Now Showing
by bjxmas
Summary: Preseries. It hurt for John to see his son so hesitant, so lost, so reluctant to do the job. “Why don’t you take Sammy with you as back-up?” “NO! I can’t expose him to this, I won’t!” Humor and angst as Sam tries to help Dean with his first solo hunt.
1. The Challenge

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Chapter One – The Challenge

"Dad, please, I'm begging you."

"Dean, it's our job."

"But Dad, you don't understand. _Please_ don't make me."

John took in the sight of his son, desperate, pleading. His son's eyes a sad mix of heartbreak and dread, with a touch of panic barely showing around the edges. This was _not _his son. _No way._ His son was stoic, determined…, _fearless_. Silently he wondered if he'd been possessed; or worse, lost his edge.

"Dean, since when do you shirk off responsibility? Since when do you consider risk or consequence?" John was searching for answers, hoping his son could offer up some reason, some compelling justification for turning into a whiner. "If the job requires it, you do it. End of story. What's come over you?"

Dean scuffed his boots in the dirt, his eyes skirting off into the distance, unwilling to meet his dad's intent gaze; unable to stand firm, look him straight in the eye and admit to his face he was a quitter. _Damn this job!_ He stammered, trying to come up with a plausible excuse, something acceptable to ease his guilt.

"Dad… it's… it's just… "

"What?" John waited. Silence his only response. Only the pain on Dean's face speaking now, contorting his face into someone unrecognizable. _I don't have time for this._ With his most forceful tone he commanded his son to respond, "Dean, WHAT?"

The words were uttered so softly John almost didn't hear. A broken whimper of "I'm sorry."

In that moment John took pity on his son. In all the years since Dean had assumed his place beside his dad in this unholy war John had never seen him so distraught, so devastated, so unwilling to _do_ the job. He'd seen his son in physical pain before, too many times in fact. He'd seen him in emotional turmoil, worried out of his mind over Sammy or his dad. He'd seen Dean at wit's end dreading the fallout from a hunt gone terribly wrong, but he'd never before seen him contemplate throwing in the towel. He'd never seen his son so perilously close to surrendering to the forces of evil. Prior to this moment he'd never even considered the remote possibility Dean would walk away from a job not done. _Maybe I don't know my son at all? _

This was a test; it had to be. Some random cosmic tribunal. His son was being judged by some omnipotent being, somewhere ruling whether Dean Winchester was man enough to be a hunter. As much as John wanted a normal life for Dean, as much as he hated seeing him risking his life fighting evil, he could not in good conscience let his son fail in this trial. Dean _was_ a hunter. All evidence pointed to that irrefutable fact, and he was a damn good one. If he walked away from this challenge now, it would dog him for the rest of his days, taunting him, whispering on the wisp of the wind _you're not worthy, you are weak… you failed._

_No._ He would not let his son fall short. Dean was strong, brave and true. His son would not run from this challenge. He would not deny his destiny. Dean _was_ a hunter and he would fulfill his obligations… _regardless of the cost._

"Dean, I'm sorry." No pity in his voice, only a harsh statement of fact and the unspoken command to never quit. John placed his hand firmly on his son's shoulder and looked directly into his eyes, willing over his own strength to fortify his son. "Son, it's a tough job, but somebody has to do it. The burden rests on you. You can do this."

Dean weakly smiled. Perhaps it was more of a grimace, but the familiar strength returned in lockstep with sheer determination. He shook out his shoulders and straightened up to his full height, pulling in a lung full of air before huffing out a deep grunt, his eyes again focused and steady. He solemnly nodded and reached into the trunk of the Impala and began gathering the supplies he would need. He slipped the EMF meter into his inside breast pocket, and then he loaded the shotgun with rock salt shells and threw a dozen more shells into the oversized pockets of his worn leather coat. He hesitated briefly before reaching into a side compartment and grabbing two metal flasks: one full of holy water, the other whiskey.

John arched his eyebrows, his look signaling disapproval. Drinking after completing a hard job was an expected response; drinking _on_ a job was unequivocally unacceptable. Dean shot a sideways glance at his dad before averting his eyes and quickly depositing the flasks on opposite sides of his inner coat pockets. Right, holy water. Left, whiskey.

"Dad…, _I know_. Cut me some slack. Would ya?" Dean gave a quirk to his face and twisted his lips into a sneer, his eyes downcast before returning to offer a slight glint of fear and shame. "… just this once. You don't know what you're asking me to face here."

"All right, son." John placed his hand on Dean's shoulder again and gave a slight squeeze as his gaze signaled confidence. "You're a good man, Dean. Believe it." John's thoughts drifted back to Dean's first hunt, his first kill, and how his son's skills and fortitude had always made him beam with pride. It hurt to see his son so hesitant, so lost, so reluctant to do the job. A slight smile crossed his lips as a solution to Dean's plight occurred to him. Dean always excelled when he focused on his brother. His need to protect and guide Sam always driving him to be better, stronger, braver. "Dean, why don't you take Sammy with you as back-up? He can use the experience."

"Dad, WHAT?" Dean shuddered in horror, his eyes wide in unmitigated terror. "You _can't_ be serious?"

"Sure… why not? I think it'd be good for him, and I think you could use a hand. You wouldn't be alone on the gig."

"NO, Dad! He shouldn't be exposed to this. He's barely fourteen. He's too young."

"Dean, you started backing me up much younger. He'll be fine," John reasoned.

"Yeah, but Dad, we weren't facing _this. _He's safer at the motel. I can't expose him to this." Dean's face was set in determination. "I won't."

"It's your call." John looked into the sad eyes of his firstborn son. The life he'd been forced to live weighing heavy on a father's heart. He wished Dean could relax a little and do something fun for a change, go to the movies and enjoy an action flick with a bold hero with a cocky attitude and a ready quip. _That's_ what his son should be facing on a Saturday night, not _this…_ Dean was paying a high price to complete this job and for that John was truly sorry. Maybe later, Dean and Sammy could take in a good movie, eat some popcorn and escape their reality. _Maybe…_ "Dean, it's your gig. You know you can call if you need me. I'm heading down to Pittsburgh to check out that new sighting, but I can be back in three hours. I should only be gone four days, tops."

Dean again hesitated, unsure if he could further expose his fears, already revealing too much weakness to a man he only wanted to be strong for. A soft voice whispered, "Dad, what if I can't handle it?" The voice and tender gaze that accompanied it took John back to another time when the sensitive eyes of a four-year-old child looked longingly into his own for reassurance.

John had to look away to calm his trembling heart and steel his resolve. Leaving his son alone to face this evil was tearing him apart, but it had to be done. Dean could handle this, he had to, and he would. There was no other option. John looked toward the forest, black and foreboding off in the distance. His mind again picturing all the evil in the world, all the danger his son faced every day of his life since they'd embarked on this journey. Then he considered this job and he sighed, hoping all the years of training had taken hold. "Dean, you can do this. I have faith in you."

John forced himself to look deep into the tender eyes of that child, _his child_. The body was of a young man, tall and muscled, confident and sure in his actions; that is, before this job. This job that at first appeared so simple and straight-forward was dredging up old wounds, reminding John of the pain of that frightened child that lingered behind sad eyes for too long. Forcing him to revisit how a child's innocence was forever lost… replaced by dread and fear of the unknown. The terror that had haunted Dean his entire life was resurfacing when least expected to knock the young hunter on his ass. All John could do was support his son in his time of need and try to steer him past this hurdle. He repeated his words of comfort, hoping Dean could find it within himself to believe.

"Dean, you can do it."

"Yeah?" Dean tentatively looked up from beneath long, lush lashes, his gaze dark and distant beneath hooded eyes. The angelic beauty of his face masking the heart of a hunter.

"Yeah. Go get 'em, Tiger."

John pressed his leather journal into Dean's startled hands and his son hesitated to wrap his fingers around it, the weight heavy as his dad released the worn book. Dean's eyes misting as the realization hit. _Dad's journal? Dad never goes anywhere without this thing. Ever. _John clasped his hand at the side of his son's neck, gently massaging the juncture with his shoulders for the briefest moment before releasing his grip. He cleared his throat and again shoved his roiling emotions down, back into the depths.

"Dad?"

The question was silent but they both understood the significance. John smiled, warm and tender, as his open palm again gently touched the side of Dean's face along his jawline. He offered a soft pat and he paused as he locked his gaze to his son's and silently nodded.

"Dude, you hold on to that."

Dean simply nodded.

John smiled at his son and retreated to his truck. He swung up onto the seat and started the powerful engine. With one last nod of his head he pulled out of the parking lot leaving his son to face his first solo job. He hoped he was up for the challenge. Dean had all the training he could provide and it was all up to him now. John braced his large hands around the steering wheel, desperately hanging on as the feelings of dread threatened him. He shuddered to think the almost imperceptible straw of this simple job could possibly bear sufficient weight to break the camel's back and turn his son into a quitter. He hoped not. He hoped his son was brave enough to endure his anguish, to soldier on, and complete his mission. It's what he's trained his entire life for, _don't blow it now, son._

Dean gave a parting glance to his dad before turning and with sure steps marching up to his destiny. He had a job to do, an important job, and there was no room for hesitation. He would do the job. He always did. He glanced about him at all the innocents scurrying about totally unaware of the supernatural forces swirling inside the building. He could feel the chill in the air, wafting down around him as he turned up the collar on his oversized, battle-scarred leather jacket. No artificial warmth could ease the apprehension in his bones, his knowledge of the coming pain taking him to the brink of despair. He was walking headlong into a den of torture, the memories of what he was to again endure pounding in his brain.

_Damn, why me? Why the hell me?_

He slowly walked up to the counter and laid his money down. A booming voice echoed through the speaker making the teenage ticket seller seem more threatening than her bubblegum chewing image presented.

"What'll it be?" she chirpily asked, blowing a huge pink bubble and popping it, grinning like the end of the world wasn't imminent.

He nervously shifted, glancing back over his shoulder one last time, thankful no one he recognized was there in the mass of people all jammed together waiting for the Gates of Hell to open and swallow them up. He lowered his voice just the same, cautiously whispering, "One for Titanic."

TBC

_Yep, this is the backstory for my one-shot __Famous Last Lines__. It is not necessary to read that story first… all you need know is several readers were shocked and curious as to how Dean was so well-versed with the movie __Titanic__. Well, folks, we are about to find out! _

_Thanks for reading, and how about a review? This story was originally going into a zine, but __I__ needed to post something less agonizing than my Evil story… more along the lines of what I normally write. I do hope you enjoy! Later, B.J._


	2. A Day at the Movies

Chapter Two – A Day at the Movies

_Four Days Prior__ – _

The door swung open as John slipped back into their motel room juggling a stack of papers and reference books that he abruptly dumped on the small table by the window. Dean casually looked up from where he was sitting at the foot of the bed intently leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees to get a better view of the Baywatch babes doing their slow-mo bounce across the too small screen of the motel TV.

"Dean, we got another gig."

As the lifeguards flipped their hair and preened on the beach Dean looked up, grinning in amusement. He sighed and softly whispered, "Later, ladies," before he stepped over and shut off the TV turning all attention to his dad.

"Yeah? What's it this time? Ghosts? Poltergeist? PMS'ing clerk with an infatuation on a certain burly hunk of a man?" His eyes flashed and his dimples deepened as he offered a cocky grin.

John scowled, the image of that infamous fiasco still burning in his memory, smoldering down to rich, hot embers perfect to toast marshmallows over. "You ever gonna let me live that down?"

"Nope." Dean was rocking back and forth on his heels, a huge smirk on his face, clearing enjoying the look of anguish consuming his dad's dark features. "Still can't believe you thought it was supernatural." A low chuckle escaped his lips as he indulged in the moment. "The great John Winchester fooled by a lusty woman."

John contorted his face into a grimace. "Yeah, should have asked my teenage son for advice on handling her."

Dean quirked his head slightly to the side, while a knowing grin broke out. "Always available for a quick pointer, Dad. I know how out of practice you are."

"And you're a fine-tuned machine ready to slay the female persuasion?"

Dean's smirk overwhelmed his face, reaching all the way up to his glimmering eyes. "Don't you know it!"

John took in the image of his smug son. "I wish I didn't." _Damn, Dean certainly is a looker. God help us._ Dean not only got his mother's great looks, but John proudly took credit for a certain air about him, a charisma or presence, not to mention those dimples. What a lady-killer his son turned out to be. He only prayed Sammy didn't follow too closely in big brother's tracks. _Hell, all I need are two of 'em to deal with! _

Dean reached out and placed his right hand on his dad's shoulder, patting it in a concerned manner. "Always here for you, Dad. There's no shame in admitting you've lost your touch."

"Since when did I have the touch?" John scoffed as he absently ran his hand across the stubble on his chin. "I thought that was your department?"

Dean offered his cocky, I-am-just-too-much smirk. "True."

"How'd I ever end up with a ladies' man for a son?"

"You saying you weren't once a player?" Dean arched his eyebrows suggestively, waggling them over playful green eyes. "You know…, back before you got old and forgot what went where?"

John sighed. Dean could be insufferable when he got amused, and besides teasing his kid brother, tormenting his dad was right up there on the short list of things that amused his older son.

"I'm not saying anything. You've already got too much ammunition on me, and you better watch that mouth of yours. I can still whup your ass," John replied with a scowl that barely hid his light chuckle, his dimples revealing his own amusement. It felt good to sometimes let the barriers down and playfully spar with his son. Dean always knew the boundaries, unlike Sam who always seemed to push too hard and too far.

"Yes, sir," his son obediently responded, his eyes silent and unreadable _except for the slightest glint of… Whimsy? Challenge? Defiance?_

Dean resumed smirking, silently wondering… _maybe… maybe not... There ain't no way I'm taking him on anytime soon. Still, it would be interesting, that's for damn sure…, but disrespectful._

John considered the silent challenge he saw his son mulling over and decided to let it pass. He had the experience and weight over his oldest, but Dean was young and talented and so damn resourceful. To be honest, he was pretty sure he could still take him, _like ninety percent sure_.., but he wasn't anxious to test the fact. Caution seemed like the strategic move here; why risk a possible embarrassment? Heaven help him if his son ever thought he was the stronger fighter and decided to mount a challenge. With Dean's smart mouth John would never live it down if he did happen to be bested by his son. Secretly he was relieved Dean so readily accepted the chain of command, stepping into formation as the loyal soldier, his dad's right-hand man.

John ran his hand down his face, shaking off all future concerns before returning to the motel coffeemaker plugged in by the sink for his fourth cup of coffee. He had planning to do and caffeine always jump-started his brain cells. Sitting down at the small table by the window he pulled out his leather journal, leafing through the ragged pages.

Dean sat back down on the bed quietly observing his dad for a moment. He might toy with the notion of taking on the top dog; after all, he was a young buck and at eighteen was apt to flex his muscles, but in his heart he knew who the boss was and he was fine with it. Dad was the general and he was the second in command, their roles firmly established years ago. They were at war and that's what mattered, the chain of command clear and firm leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. To be honest it provided the only stability in his life; a clear guide to what was expected and where he stood in the grand scheme of things.

After a lifetime of careful scrutiny, Dean was an expert at judging John's moods. Years of mediating his own behavior and refereeing any rifts between his dad and Sam honing his skills. He knew just how far he could push without hitting the wall, and he sure as hell never wanted to hit the wall with John Winchester.

Playtime was over; they had a job to do. He sighed with a confident grin, his gut fluttering with welcome anticipation; a hunt always brought him back to who he was, bringing into sharper focus what his true purpose was. _Time to get serious; evil was waiting, and Dean Winchester would hardly want to disappoint._

"So? What's the gig?"

John paused in his research to brief his son. "Movie Theater in town. Spectral sightings, odd disturbances, cold spots."

Dean nodded, intently watching his dad for silent clues he didn't feel the need to voice. "Sounds simple enough. What's the history? Any deaths or previous hauntings?"

"Not that I can find. Whatever it is seems pretty benign, more mischievous than anything."

Dean pondered the information and tilted his head slightly in confusion as his eyebrows arched. "Then why waste our time? It's not like we've run out of real badass evil to hunt."

Looking up from his paperwork John nodded in agreement. "True, but it's a paying gig. We can use the money."

"Why pay us if it's not hurting anyone? Doesn't it just up the interest in the joint? You know, make it more colorful?" An amusing thought popped into Dean's head and he excitedly pointed at his dad. "Hey, maybe they can make the next edition of 'Haunted America'. You think?" He laughed with abandon, finding great joy in the thought, but still finding any real purpose behind this hunt lacking.

"That's not the kind of interest the owner needs. He wants it gone 'cause it's hurting the bottom line."

Dean casually shrugged before leaning back on his elbows. "Yeah? How so?"

"Every time it interrupts the movie the guy has to refund the ticket price. Financially, it's killing him."

Dean settled back and offered a knowing nod. "Huh. Guess the almighty buck rules again. So what's its MO?"

John was tapping his pen against the open journal while he concentrated; he looked up and gave his son his attention again. "It's a multi-plex, but all the occurrences happen when they play one particular movie."

Dean twisted his mouth as his eyebrows arched. "Same theater?"

"Nope. That's the strange part. Since this started he's been shuffling his showtimes around. Different movies play at different times, different theaters, but the disturbances only happen during the one movie."

"Yahtzee!" Dean exclaimed with a goofy grin as he snapped his fingers. "Looks like a pattern."

John smiled at his son's sarcasm; Dean loved stating the obvious with his smartass mouth. "Yeah, it's a pattern, smart-guy; now, whatcha gonna do about it?"

Dean offered his most confident grin. "Waste its sorry ass."

John laughed. "Works for me, but first you have to find it," he cautioned.

Dean was mulling over the specifics of the case when he heard footsteps and a shadow passed by the window of the room. Both men tensed as a key slipped into the door. They simultaneously looked over on alert as the door swung open and Sam entered the room, returning from his trip down to the fast food joint on the corner to pick up lunch. He plopped down a bag of cheeseburgers and fries on the small table, placing one burger before his dad, tossing another to his brother on the bed and taking one for himself before sitting down on the other bed to join in the conversation.

Dean caught the burger his brother tossed him with one hand and as he was unwrapping it he walked over to the table to grab a container of fries. He looked to his brother as he peered under the top bun of his burger. "You call this extra onions?" he groused.

"Cheap fast food. Whatcha expect?"

"And did you _ask _for extra onions?"

Sam smiled that sweet smile that reeked of pure innocence. "Of course."

Big brother glowered at him, suspecting the little twerp was staging another one of his silent protests.

Sam ignored the death ray stare and glanced at his dad. "So, I hear right? You got another job?" The disappointment in his voice was evident despite his casual tone. He'd been hoping for some down time to chill out with his brother. Of course that was before his brother reminded him of what a jerk he could be. _Fine, 'cause I could care less you got another gig._

John smiled at the _apparent _interest of his youngest. "Yeah, Sammy. Movie Theater in town. Looks like a haunting," John replied hoping to redirect the conversation away from the onion controversy.

Dean adjusted the bun on his cheeseburger and bit into it, talking with his mouth full. "So, what's the movie?" he questioned as he sat back down on the bed.

"Titanic."

Dean looked puzzled, furrowing his eyebrows and twisting his mouth as he spoke, "Huh? What's that? A monster flick? Some giant, mutant ant or something?"

Sam choked on his first bite of burger. "You're kidding, right?"

Dean grimaced from his smart-aleck brother's comment, obviously too big for his britches and needing to be taken down, _like maybe three or four inches!_ "Yeah, Sammy, I'm just comic relief. What's your point, Ebert?"

"For someone who prides himself on his knowledge of pop culture, you missed the boat on this one." Sam grinned, obviously enjoying his little joke.

Dean sneered and looked to his dad for rescue.

John didn't fail him, joining back in the conversation and enlightening his sheltered son. _Sheltered? Not hardly…, let's just say temporarily 'Entertainment Tonight' deprived. Guess Dean's been a little too preoccupied with hunting and the steady stream of ladies to stay current with the latest national obsession. _"It's the new blockbuster movie. It's about the ship Titanic that sunk in the Atlantic back in 1912."

Dean quickly recovered. "Oh, yeah, _that_ Titanic. Didn't have enough lifeboats, reason they came up with the international distress signal of SOS." Dean glared at his brother, delighting in the look of shock on his face. _Take that Sammy-O; I've seen __A Night to Remember__. You forget who you're dealing with here?_

Sam's shocked expression slowly gave way to admiration. "Wow, so you didn't totally sleep through history class?" Sam noted in awe.

Dean jumped over to the bed his brother was sitting on and roughly pushed his shoulder, smiling as he teased him. "You're not the only one with a brain, Sammy."

"Yeah, I know. Everyone _has _one, but not everyone _uses_ it."

Grabbing at his heart and rolling away from his brother, Dean feigned a mortal wound. "Ouch, that one hurt," he snickered.

John smiled at his sons' antics, relieved the job was a simple one without all the usual potential for harm. The money was good, the job was easy, and for once the world seemed to be treating them fairly. Well, _mostly. _He'd learned long ago not to expect much from the world. Best to only depend on himself and his boys; the world had a nasty habit of letting them down.

"So, Dad. What's the plan?" Dean asked as Sam and he continued to jostle each other back and forth in a mock war.

"Well, you'll be the inside man and I'll keep an eye on the outside. Like you said, we find this sucker and waste 'em."

"No problem." Dean grinned in complete contentment, obviously chomping at the bit to be back in action and waste some evil, even if it was the low-rent variety. _Hell, my kind of job._ No nature hikes through cold, dreary nights stumbling around over rough terrain searching out evil and to top it all off, no blood-thirsty creatures trying to devour them in return. _Sounds like the perfect gig!_ A nice comfortable seat in an air-conditioned theater watching movies, which _was _one of his favorite pastimes, sounded like just the ticket to a relaxing, pleasant job. This could offer a much needed respite from the danger their jobs usually entailed. He only hoped they didn't vanquish this sucker too damn fast. Watching movies on the big screen was always a treat, certainly better than the fuzzy reception and midget-sized screens of the crappy motel rooms they stayed in.

TBC


	3. A Night in Hell

Warnings for language, including the F word on occasion.

_Spoilers for the movie __Titanic__. Of course, if you haven't seen it by now, do you honestly care? Oh, yes.., ahem, for legal disclosure, all opinions on the merits of the movie are strictly Mr. Dean Winchester's alone and I am merely documenting his comments… Mr. Cameron, please, do not sue me. I actually saw the film twice at the theater since I've always found the actual Titanic to be a fascinating glimpse back in history. _

Chapter Three – A Night in Hell

"I'm the King of the World!" Leo screamed for the umpteenth time.

_Oh, God! Why me?_

Dean sunk down in the theater seat, hoping… _praying_ the spirit would make an appearance soon. _What the hell is wrong with this sadistic bitch? Can't it see I'm suffering here?_

This ghost or whatever the hell it happened to be was so damn unpredictable. Just when they thought they had a handle on what was triggering its appearances it would shift and pull out a whole new modus operandi. Most of the actual sightings had stopped once they were on the case. There were still minor cold spots or disturbances, but nothing like what the owner of the theater reported before he brought them on board. It was hard to hunt the bitch down when it didn't show its fugly head. It was almost like it was taunting him, teasing that it would all be over soon and then thrusting him back into the depths of despair as that damn ship rolled across the ocean again and again and again. And then again.. and again..! And… again!

Dean wished he could sink to the bottom of the Atlantic and succumb to the frigid waters. It could all be over in a few shivering moments. _I've heard freezing to death is actually a peaceful way to go. Anything would be better than this hell. _

Since the movie was based on a historical event, Dean was well aware that _real_ people actually died and for that he was sorry, _truly sorry_, but that was eighty-five freaking years ago. _Enough is enough!_ Besides it wasn't like this was a documentary or something, or even remotely _true_. _Hell, it's as close to real life as a freakin' Disney flick… you know, the cartoon kind!_

He did find the analysis of how the great ship foundered and went down quite interesting, and the underwater photography of the actual Titanic lying in her grave at the bottom of the frigid waters was eerie and rather mesmerizing for a spook show. The broken hull of the ship and the scattered contents strewn about the ocean floor presented the most intriguing graveyard he'd ever been exposed to, and if there were any ghosts haunting the place they'd have pretty slim pickings on who to torment and would in all probability spend eternity trapped in the icy depths walking the barnacle-covered deck.

Dean hated to admit it, but he actually got a little choked up thinking about the enormity of all those lost lives. In the blink of an eye their entire existence shifted from lucky passengers on the maiden voyage of the largest ship ever build to just another tragic reminder of man's arrogance and reckless nature. The sheer number of victims demanded a somber response, and the survivors surely dealt with their own inner demons after what they had witnessed. He certainly could relate to the cruelty of fate and how one horrific moment could irreparably scar a life.

_And that, my friend, is quite an admission from a hunter who's seen more boneyards than most preachers who make a living officiating over funerals. Of course, I've officiated at more than a few of my own ceremonies for the dead… and the undead in my storied career._

Any sympathy he might have harbored for the real victims of Titanic was unfortunately cast aside when the reality of the actual sinking gave way to the exploits of Kate and Leo as Rose and Jack got mushy and the truth of the tragedy got mired in the romantic drivel that passed for a story. Against his own conscience and empathy for the actual innocents on that fateful voyage he soon found himself rooting for the iceberg, wishing it could have been a hell of a lot bigger and more deadly, _at least big enough to sink this movie. _

He'd never before considered himself a movie critic, _but I know what I like and I __know__ what's good,_ and a quicker death scene would have suited him just fine. After all, that water was iceberg cold! _Get real, people!_ Rose and Jack sloshing around in the frigid water pouring into the ship for an hour before it actually sank should have given them hypothermia long before they took the big plunge. _You don't have to be a freakin' doctor to know that, any idiot could figure that one out! _The final straw was the last words Jack spouted before slipping away and sinking into the icy depths. That bullshit was simply ludicrous. Like _anyone_ would feel lucky to have won a ticket on that ill-fated voyage? Like the jerk would cheerfully give up his life for a chick he met days before?

_Yeah, right! Only if he had a deep-seated death wish. Of course, after being forced to watch this movie nearly a dozen times, I can relate… _

_Look, don't get me wrong, the nude scene was cool. A little too Victorian proper if you know what I mean, but still, a naked girl at least got my attention. Too bad they got all artsy with the sex scene. Who wants to see the windows steam up? Good movie making is more naked girl. Right? _

_Jack was an idiot, no question about that. The sex might have been good, but there're plenty more fish in the ocean. He was young, lots of good sex in his future. Bottom line, dying sucks. Stupid movie._

Then Dean heard the familiar music cuing _the _scene, and he sat up straight in his seat, instinctively preparing for his performance. _Here we go again. One more time.., with feeling! _Dean groaned before throwing himself into the moment. It was like he couldn't control himself; like he was Pavlov's fucking dog, the ship's horn ringing his bell, signaling his reenactment.

Dean muttered the words in sync with Leo, his body acting out the drama of the moment as best he could while still trapped in his hard, lumpy seat, the overwrought emotion cascading off the screen and burying him in the dripping sentiment, "Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me... Promise me you'll survive. That you won't give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise."

He gasped out the last line and collapsed into his seat, his shoulders scrunched down low against the rigid back. He slapped his hand to his forehead and banged the back of his head against the hard frame in horror at his actions, not believing he couldn't control himself, again succumbing to the spell it cast over him. He then snarled his best Bruce Willis impersonation, wishing he could blow up the theater like the Nakatomi building. _Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker! Now, __that__ was a movie!_

With his big scene over, at least for the time being, he slumped down further into the confines of his prison already dreading the next viewing… and how the goddamn ship would miraculously rise up from the depths to take him once more across the ice-packed ocean sending his tortured soul on a collision course with that freaking iceberg. _Iceberg - 10, Titanic - 0, Dean Winchester - negative infinity._

He hunkered down even lower in his seat, wishing he could close his eyes and just disappear, wishing that damn spirit would come and release him into the next life. _Anything would be better than this!_

Silence surrounded him as Rose drifted on the wooden panel, the whistle sounding in the distance. _No spirit, no action, nothing much happening here. Nothing except that obnoxious, sappy, morose music. God! What were they thinking? Who __is__ that woman? Haven't they heard of Zeppelin? Get with it, people! Get the Led out!_

Dean drummed his fingers on the arms of the theater seat, his long legs restless as they shifted and constantly changed position, and he felt like he needed to slip out of his skin. His hands anxiously rubbed down the front of his thighs, scratching through the denim in a frantic pawing motion before returning to grip the armrest in a desperate bid to still himself. All his nerve endings were a jumble, firing and sparking, and making his outer skin feel like he was being lit on fire. He just wanted to go home to their crappy motel room and slip into bed. Pull the covers up over his head and forget this nightmare; let sleep drag him into a dreamworld where he could face some real badass evil and his adrenaline could at least kick in and wash away this creepy-crawly feeling.

_Come on you freak, what are you waiting for?_

Why couldn't this spirit haunt The Terminator or Aliens? Huh? Those weren't just decent movies, those were _great _movies. _Classics!_ He could actually _enjoy_ those movies instead of being slowly tortured to death with this schmaltz. Maybe this is all Cameron's fault? He's the one responsible for this mess. He's the one who abandoned true filmmaking in favor of fluff. Maybe the ghost is protesting the disintegration of a promising career? _Damn it! _The man's a has-been…, going all artsy-fartsy, _like he thinks this trash is going to win him an Oscar or something?_ Doesn't he know action is where it's at? Doesn't he read the demographics? Young, male teens don't want to see this emo-shit. _The man had better get back to the basics before his career ends up in the toilet!_

To ease his nerves and focus his mind, Dean started fantasizing about what he'd like to see Cameron do to get his career back on track. After watching this turkey almost a dozen times it was obvious the man desperately needed help getting his focus back, and Dean Winchester was just the guy to set him straight. Let's see, he needs action with maybe a little supernatural or sci-fi perspective. Yeah, something different, but with an underlying theme of good vs. evil, always the basis for good drama and conflict.

His tense body relaxed ever so slightly as his mind took him far away and he actually started to get excited about his fantasy show. _Characters_…, let's see… yeah, gotta have a kick-butt girl, maybe a hot babe who struts around in a tight, black bodysuit. Catlike moves, all sensual and sultry. _Now, notice I didn't say slutty, but then again, we can always work on that._ Smokin' body and gorgeous face with full, luscious lips and expressive eyes. A face you're captivated by and a bod you can get lost in. _Oh, yeah!_ Maybe throw in some us-against-the-world vibes, like she's an outsider trying to find her way in this world. _Not bad, Winchester, you might be on to something here. It's definitely better than this crapfest._

And there's got to be a muscle car, _like say, a sleek, black 67 Impala? _No, maybe not; after all, there is only one Black Beauty, and I don't feel like sharing her. No, something fast and furious, but different. Maybe a hot motorcycle? If this is in the future then who knows how expensive gas might be? _I mean, what if it goes over two bucks a gallon? _Couldn't afford to drive a muscle car then, so the smart ride would be a motorcycle. _This is looking good, dude!_ _A hot babe on a cool bike. And I definitely see some leather chaps in her future…; _Dean arched his eyebrows in appreciation and he smirked, _….pants optional! _A huge grin lit up his face as he licked his lips in anticipation; his fantasy girl whetting his appetite, amongst other things. _Oh, yeah!_

_What else? _Well, there has to be a hero, but not your typical squeaky-clean type, that's too boring. _Oh, all right._ We'll throw in the normal, banana republic good guy just to keep the MILF's happy. But the _real_ hero needs to be handsome and built, _yes, I might be available!; _cocky with a smart mouth and a ready smirk, _hmmm, sounding vaguely familiar;_ bold and brave and physically superior to beat the crap out of everyone he faces, _dare I say, I __am__ rather awesome in a fight!; _and most important, cool and confident with the ladies, _is there any doubt?_ A star is born! Dean chuckled to himself as the audience around him shushed loudly. _Alright, already! So they're dying on the screen, you have no idea how perfect this idea is!_

_Damn! This is sounding promising. I should be in the biz! If Cameron would just follow my advice he could dig himself out of this Titanic sinkhole._ _Maybe I should drop him a line? Lay it all out for him. _

Good story, but it needs a title. She sounds like a devil, _but no… don't want to give the devil his due. _No… maybe more like an angel, _not that they really exist._ _Hmmm, maybe that works. _She's everyman's fantasy. _Hell, she sure is mine! _But she isn't just a beautiful, pure angel, _no way… not if I'm creating her. _No, she's gonna be dark and threatening. _Whoa, that's it, __Angel of Darkness. _No, that's not quite right. _Maybe, __Dark Angel__? Dean, my boy, you are brilliant. __Dark Angel__ it is! _

Dean returned his focus to the movie screen as the credits rolled; relieved he had managed to survive one more showing, but devastated it wouldn't be the last. _Oh, God! Why the hell won't that bastard show himself?_

He grabbed up his plastic cup half full of hot, watery Dr. Pepper and stood up to shake off the stiffness from three and a half hours of agony. This small town theater could use some new seats, the nice ones that lean back with foot bars to put your feet up, not to mention having an acceptable amount of padding. As usual his feet stuck to the floor and he pulled up each of his boots and continued on with the squish-squish sound accompanying him back to the lobby. _How the hell do these people spill all this crap? I freaking hate getting my boots all gummed up._

John was standing by the theater door as the audience filed out. "Dean, anything?"

"Nah. You?"

"Quiet as a library on Saturday night."

"Sounds good. Better than this torture," Dean scoffed.

John looked up in shock, wondering if his sons had been in contact with a transmutation stone. If somehow Sam's essence had been transferred into his brother's body.

"You're hoping for a stint at the library on a Saturday night? Dude, you got a fever?"

Dean expelled a grunt. "Well, I am steamed, but only from the punishment you're dishing out." Dean's voice was just this side of contemptuous, barely within the allowable confines.

John rolled his eyes, only the slightest concern evident, more annoyance if he were being honest. "Dean, you love the movies. It can't be all that bad."

"Have you _seen_ this movie?" The volume and harshness of Dean's voice was rising although he managed to stay conscious of the parameters of acceptable behavior, not yet crossing over into the Sammy zone. He somehow always managed to control his anger, instinctively knowing to rein it in, respect for his dad ever present, always tempering his words and actions, even when he felt like screaming to the heavens. _Oh, God, could I let loose with a primal scream right about now!_

John tried to reason with him, not yet understanding the severity of the situation. "It's a blockbuster. All of America can't be wrong."

Dean adamantly shook his head, certainty behind his words. "Wanna bet? I'll give you odds. Ten to one I'm right."

John cocked his head in concentration. "And how am I going to find out?"

Dean grinned. "Easy, we'll switch posts. You stake out the next show and I'll keep an eye on the lobby and the cute popcorn girl." Dean's eyes sparkled at the prospect, hope momentarily bolstering his spirits.

John studied his son, finally seeing the tension in him. "You're serious?"

"Deadly."

John considered Dean's plan for all of a nanosecond, determining if Dean found this movie _that_ disturbing it most certainly was nothing he was interested in seeing. "Sorry, Dean. You're stuck as inside man." _There are benefits to being the one in charge._

Dean deflated like the Snoopy balloon at the end of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade after all the spectators went home and the remnants of the festivities were unceremoniously left to shrivel up and die. "Figures," he muttered.

"Well, that's the last showing of the night. Guess we'll just have to come back tomorrow."

"Oh, God, kill me now."

TBC

_Like many 'Dean' fans, I confess to being an avid fan of __Dark Angel__ S2. What an interesting coincidence, huh? Thanks for reading, B.J._


	4. Action vs Chick Flicks

Chapter Four – Action vs. Chick Flicks

Dean maneuvered the Impala into the motel parking lot and pulled into the empty spot directly in front of their room. He sat there with his hands clenched on the steering wheel, staring through the rain soaked windshield, contemplating one last plea, one final bid for help. The drizzle of the rain reflected his mood. _Damn, I never ask for anything… ever._

"Dad… "

John shifted in his seat, waiting for the words he knew Dean had been struggling with since they left the theater. _Damn, what's up with him? Since when does Dean wimp out on a job?_

John kept his voice low and steady, "Dean, what is it?"

Dean shot a quick glance at his dad before his eyes returned straight and center, boring a hole through the glass of the windshield and attempting to tunnel all the way into their room. His fingers still clenched tight, his voice tight enough to match as he barely got the words out.

"Dad, this job. Can't we just…?"

"What?"

"Can't we just, you know…?"

John had no patience for this, no stomach for weakness, and goddammit, he knew his son was balking at the job. A simple, straight-forward haunting. A mischief maker that was barely a one on the scale of deadly creatures. A freaking, piece-of-cake, ten-year-old-child-could-handle-it, shit-ass gig. _What the hell is wrong with this picture? _John could feel his fury building, almost to the point of erupting. _Almost._

"Dean, NO. It's our job and we are _not_ going to just walk away. You understand me?"

A submissive, barely audible response quietly escaped his son's lips, "Yes, sir."

John roughly swung open the door. "Dean, let's get some rest. First showing is at ten tomorrow. You better get your head on straight and be ready to do the job."

This time Dean's response was a crisp snap, almost a military response, albeit slightly more subdued, "Yes, _sir_."

John grabbed his shoulder pack of supplies, stepped out into the rain, and stalked to the door of their room.

Dean cracked open his door and swung his legs out, his head hung down, his shoulders hunched over with the rain washing over him. _Damn, I don't know what's wrong with me. I __am__ a freaking wuss. Dad's gotta be ashamed of me._

Just before John opened the motel door he paused and turned back to his son, observing the man before him… the _teenager _before him. _He's young, he'll do it. He won't fail you. He never has before and he won't now._

"Dude, it's just nerves. You'll be fine." John offered up a hesitant smile, a tight-lipped acceptance, the best he could come up with for now. "I'm not worried."

Dean shuddered as if he were standing on the deck of that ship facing an ominous, blue wall of ice, the chill settling in his bones, emanating out from his core to envelope him in a cold, deep-seated terror. He stared into the face of the most frightening sight he had ever come across and meekly returned the smile. Still unsure of himself, he was determined to trudge on. There'd be hell to pay before he'd ever disappoint his dad; that much he knew.

Sam was lying on the bed watching TV, but he shifted his position towards the motel door to observe his family as they entered the room, a thousand questions on his mind as he studied them to gauge how the job went. One searching look into his brother's eyes and he knew the job wasn't yet over, no matter how much Dean wanted it to be.

Dean noticed Sam's intent gaze and his game face quickly fell into place, a cocky smile greeting his kid brother.

"Hey, Sammy, whatcha watching?"

Sam hesitated a moment before answering, wondering if he had misjudged Dean's state of mind, his brother suddenly appearing calm and collected, confident and sure. "Die Hard. McClane just got Karl's brother."

"Man, this is the best part. You don't mess with a man's brother," Dean exclaimed as he stood watching the small screen. "Move over." Dean pushed his brother's legs so he had room to join him on the bed, thankful he could at least wash away the effects of that horror of a movie for the time being by enjoying a _real_ movie. "Damn, McClane's awesome!"

----

Dean grunted out a low, rumbling moan as the warm touch of the morning sun glistened against his pale skin, but instead of heat he only felt a chill, deep down in his bones. He shuddered and buried his head facedown in his pillow, pulling the musty comforter up over his shoulders in a feeble attempt to hide from the intruding morning. The offending sunlight streaming through the window cast the bed in a brilliant glow, like a spotlight showcasing the troubled hunter and bringing the promise of a new day filled only with torment.

The agony of the night before again reverberated through his brain and the prospect of returning to that torture chamber made his gut clench tight in dread. He squeezed his eyes closed in denial as he burrowed deeper into his pillow. _What you don't see can't hurt you. Yeah, right, 'cause that's always worked so well for us._ He was loathe to face this new day, another day only promising more pain. _Why can't I stay here in the room with Sammy? Maybe catch another action flick on the tube?_

His dad's gruff voice answered his unspoken plea as he forcefully dragged his son back to his duty, the simple tenor of his voice enough to pull him from his forbidden quest for salvation. "Dean, first showing is at ten, then two, six and ten again."

"Four times?" Dean whined as he pulled the pillow over his head. His muffled voice continued his protest, "In one day?" _Three just about killed me._

John held his tongue, wondering how much more of Dean's grief he could stand before he let the hammer fall. Before he lost his cool and said something he'd regret, something along the lines of _'Quit being a fucking baby about this'_. He knew Dean was in pain, that was obvious, but _come on!_ This movie couldn't possibly be all _that_ bad.

Trying to reason with his son, John calmly reached out to him, "Dean, you don't think I've ever gone to a movie I didn't particularly want to see?"

Dean pulled the pillow from his head and shifted on the bed so he could observe this stranger before him. His look was a cross between bewildered and skeptical as he furrowed his brows and intently stared at his dad. "When was the last time you even _went_ to a movie?"

John hesitated, nervously clasping his hands to his knees as he sat down on the bed opposite Dean, his own long-buried pain bubbling to the surface and threatening his resolve. He took in a deep breath and gazed with tentative, sad eyes upon his son. He'd started this conversation and he could finish it. _It might even help Dean gain some perspective._

"Dean, your mom loved going to the movies."

Dean sloughed off his covers and quickly sat up on the bed, always hungry for information on his mom, any connection that brought her back to life. "She did?"

John chuckled softly at the memory, pleased by Dean's interest and the light that was again shining in his son's eyes. "Yeah, son, she did."

Dean's voice was eager, anxious for any new insight into his mom. He shifted closer to his dad, leaning into the aisle separating the beds they were sitting on, intently hanging on every word. "So… what kind of movies did she like?"

_Oh, that…_ John grimaced, wrinkling his forehead at the memory. "The kind I don't."

Dean's smile froze, and then his lips quivered for a moment like he was reciting a silent prayer before turning downwards towards a frown. He'd always pictured his mom as cool and current, the kind of mom that would play video games and watch action flicks with her sons, the _perfect_ mom, _the mom of his dreams_. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear about _this_ mom, to face that maybe she wasn't the perfect mom after all, that she might actually be the kind of mom who had lousy taste in movies. He nervously arched his left brow and braced for the bitter truth. "Like what?" he softly whispered.

"Woody Allen, mainly."

Dean gasped, devastated by this bone-chilling reality. _Man, that sucks big time! _He was fumbling with his words, this disturbing news relieving him of his verbal skills. "So, Dad… you actually had to like… um… _watch_ Woody Allen movies? …like on the big screen even? I mean…, larger than life? Wasn't that kinda gross?"

John released a heavy sigh. "Yeah, son, I did. And yeah, it _was _kinda gross."

Dean was totally speechless now, the utter horror more than he could process. It was like the rug had been ripped out from under his feet and he was crashing to the ground in an overwhelming tangle of disappointment and shock. He found new respect for his dad in that moment, not that he wasn't filled with the utmost respect and admiration for his dad before, but that was for his hunting skills and who he was as a man… this was different, beyond courageous, bordering on martyrdom. _Man, oh, man… talk about devotion!_

"Dad, I mean… _damn." _The words continued to elude him, his mind desperately trying to wrap itself around this startling revelation. "Man… oh, man!" Finally the only thing he could think broke free and he blurted out his true feelings. "That sucks… I mean, that _really_ sucks. You must have _really_ loved Mom." Which of course Dean knew, but the extent of that love had grown by leaps and bounds at the thought of his dad actually sitting through a Woody Allen movie for her. And it didn't sound like a one time deal. _Man! _

"Ain't that the truth?" Father and son sat staring at the floor, at their tense hands twisting in their laps, off into the distance, or at least as far as their gaze would take them in the confines of that small motel room, until finally their eyes connected in silent acknowledgment. Dean watched and waited, and then John softly chuckled. "Of course, what you have to realize, Dean, is… " John hesitated, unsure if he was willing to reveal such intimate details about his life with Mary, most especially to their son. He looked up and met Dean's expectant eyes looking to his dad for meaning, searching out some measure of understanding.

John held his son's rapt attention as if he were about to reveal the secret order of the universe, the great cosmic plan; Dean hanging on every word, anticipating a sign, a reason for this shocking twist of fate, watching and waiting for his dad to offer enlightenment. His son's pain was still etched on his face, and John decided that as a man Dean had to know the truth, regardless of the fact that this was his mother and father and ground he might not want to examine too closely.

"Dean, the thing is..., when you love someone, you make sacrifices… and in return… they reward you with something you want." John stumbled over his words, jumbling up his meaning and making it sound less like he envisioned as he quickly added, "Not to mean your mom didn't want it too. It's just that… well… "

Dean face erupted in a huge, freaking grin. "You mean you got lucky?" He was literally rocking up and down on the bed, his feet on the floor rolling from heel to toe in delight as he considered his dad in this new light.

_Damn, when did my little boy grow into this man? _John's dimples deepened at the memory and his smile relieved his solemn face of all pain and he couldn't help sharing his joy as he remembered one of the best nights of his life. "We _both_ got lucky, son." John's eyes actually twinkled at the thought while his dimples grew into crevices and his entire face looked ten years younger. For a brief shining moment Mary was back, so strong in his memory, and the passion and love shown bright illuminating the darkness he'd been lost in. He turned to his son and couldn't _not_ share that bliss. "In fact, we got so damn lucky we got an extra little bonus nine months later."

Dean stopped rocking and froze. His eyes grew wide and shifted nervously about the room before settling again on the beaming face of his dad. He swallowed, a small voice finally questioning, "Me?"

John laughed as his eyes danced with glee. "You."

Dean sat there, digesting the shocking information, rolling the thought around in his head before he let out an audible shudder. His entire body shook as if touched by a polar chill. "Okay…, Dad…, that went over the line. I really didn't need to know I was conceived with any type of connection to a Woody Allen movie." Another pained expression looked back at John. "Couldn't you have cleaned it up a little? At least made it a sex comedy or didn't you two ever check out any action flicks?"

John cocked his head in pensive thought, a mischievous grin playing across his face. "Your mom always did have a fascination with Clint Eastwood."

Dean shivered as he shook out his shoulders, his mouth contorted and his eyes squinted before he finally squeaked out, "Mom? ... and Clint? Now _that's _gross." Dean scrunched up his face in revulsion and released a guttural gasp.

"Sorry, just trying to help."

"Alright, I'll admit you suffered, but look at the payback you got. In case you haven't noticed, I ain't got a chick ready to fall all over me 'cause I sat through this crap."

"Dude, it's good training. Look at it this way, if you can survive this, you can survive anything."

Dean silently quirked his head to the side and his eyebrows arched in resignation. "Badge of Honor? Huh, Dad?"

John smiled at his son, again witnessing the strength of character his son possessed, and he wondered how he could have ever doubted him. "Something like that." John softly chuckled, "The things we do for the women in our lives."

"Yeah, Dad," Dean smirked and his dimples deepened at the possible payoff, "but more important is what they do for us!"

Steam rolled out of the bathroom as the door swung open and Sam emerged through the fog, walking over to the foot of the bed to sit down next to his brother.

"Shower's free."

"Yeah? Looks like you used up all the hot water. It runs cold on me and you're dead meat," Dean threatened.

Sam rolled his eyes at the threat, responding with his own taunt, "Serves you right for sleeping in, Sleeping Beauty."

"At least I don't snore, Dopey," Dean snapped back.

Sam responded with a smug tone, trying to one-up his brother with his superior, _in his mind_, intellect. "Mixing up your Disney characters there, Dean."

"Well, figures you'd know, _Princess._ I think there might be a revival of Beauty and the Beast at the multiplex, you know… if you're interested in checking out a little romance. Maybe getting some pointers."

"Hey, at least the Beast managed to get himself a girl. You're kinda on a dry spell now, aren't ya, big brother?" Sam was hitting below the belt, yeah down _there_, where it _really_ hurt.

Dean's eyes only momentarily flashed the slightest hint of pain before he again buried the drama of the truth in that statement. The lack of feminine companionship over the last month while they were immersed in back to back hunts on top of enduring this stupid, emotional sinkhole of a movie had left his defenses battered and bruised. He needed to recapture his familiar role of the cocky, belligerent, older brother. He _desperately _needed to feel in control again.

He offered his brother his most confident smirk, his mouth poised, ready to lay a devastatingly witty retort on his too-big-for–his-britches brother, but before he could manage the smackdown Dad leaped into the fray. It was an interesting save considering John normally let his sons spar without interference. Perhaps for once he felt Dean needed the back-up.

"Sammy, get dressed and get us some breakfast at the corner. Dean and I need to eat before we head out."

Sam offered up his standard huff along with the obvious body language that conveyed his displeasure, but he grabbed his clothes and started to silently dress. Dean rose from the bed and started towards the shower. There was an awkward moment as the brothers passed in the close quarters, but neither spoke, fully understanding John Winchester's way of ending their conversation.

TBC


	5. Back to the Future

Chapter Five – Back to the Future

_Present day – 1997_

Four days of missed opportunities and no success in vanquishing this spirit and Dean was on his own. John had left to take care of a disturbance down south, leaving his son to face his terrors all alone. Bolstered by Dad's revealing history with chick flicks and his rare words of support, Dean felt new confidence he could handle this job… at least he hoped he could. Even though he didn't want to admit it, even to himself, he had to acknowledge it was a scary proposition to be facing down this evil all on his own. He never thought his first solo gig would be something as benign as a mischievous spirit and he further never envisioned being so damn nervous about it. Everything about this gig had him anxious, unsettled and… _scared. _And he was most scared because he _felt_ scared.

He'd lived his life behind a confident air, a bold swagger he had come to believe most days, _especially_ when he was hunting. Show no fear and hide any weakness. He'd trained his entire life for the hunt. It was all he knew. The one thing he truly excelled at: his one true gift in life, his purpose, his calling… to hunt down evil and vanquish it, and now he was questioning his very mission…, _questioning himself_. He'd had the best training possible under his dad's steady tutelage and he had natural ability, an inherent aptitude for this kind of work. _So why the hell am I hesitating now? Why does this damn theater and stupid movie scare the crap out of me?_

The theater looked so innocent, bright and cheery with a well lit lobby filled to capacity with the echo of laughter and good times, hardly dark and ominous and threatening. _Better watch it, Winchester._ _That's just the kind of place to lull you into a false sense of security, to catch you off guard with deadly precision and rip you to shreds._

Dean's haunted eyes reflected the abject terror on the edge of his consciousness, his mouth nervously muttering under his breath, his eyebrows deeply furrowed in concentration, his ears on alert, intently listening, tuned in to the subtle whispers wafting through the cavernous chambers; all of his senses called into play to guard against this evil. Only his sense of smell and taste left out of the equation, unless you counted his yearning for the popcorn, but then again maybe that was more for the popcorn girl. _Focus on the hunt, goddammit! _

He settled down and pulled up his vast well of knowledge along with the slight experience he had handling a job on his own. No sulfur, so he wasn't dealing with a demon which considering his tender mental state and frazzled nerves had to be considered good news. At least he didn't have to worry about facing the big bad as he waited for evil to assault him. _Nope, no demons. Lucky me! All I've got to handle here is a shit-ass, freaking Casper, the unfriendly ghost. Piece of cake… yeah, right!_

_Well, this freaky, mild-mannered, little ghosty might not be ready to slash me into little bits and eat me for lunch… may not be into the whole 'physical assault and do bodily harm jollies', but it sure as hell is gonna inflict some major damage. I can feel it. Winchester, my boy, you are in for the ride of your life, that's for damn sure! Just buckle up and settle down. You can do this… you can! _

Unfortunately, the kind of damage Dean knew he was facing here was the most painful to admit to, much less examine. He could see the writing on the wall, detailing the coming pain. He was in for the total emotional twisting of his feelings with a glee designed simply with the sole purpose of watching him suffer the humiliation and devastation in failing at his job. He physically shook from the utter horror of sitting through that damn movie yet again, and the paralyzing fear of disappointing his dad. If he survived this ordeal, he deserved a medal or better yet, a tender thank you from a frisky woman. Problem being, no imperiled damsels were waiting for him to rescue them. The harsh reality this time around was he was the only _girl _hoping to be saved. _And I kid Sammy about being the girl in the family? Damn! I've been such a freakin' girl about this whole deal… man! God, I hate this job!_

---

Another night with no sightings left Dean at a loss, his terror the only constant, right there staring him down and waiting for him to flinch. He wondered how much longer he could endure this agony with no resolution, the waiting and uncertainty feeding his insecurities, pushing him further down that road to self-doubt. Sam intently watched him with growing concern shadowing his eyes when he returned to the motel room after the last showing, and that only made him feel like more of a loser_. I hate it when he looks at me with pity, concern, or what-the-hell else he feels when he thinks I've failed. I'm the big brother. I look after him, not the other way around._

"Still no spirit?" Sam's low voice questioning as he shifted on the bed and turned down the sound on the TV in case his brother felt like venting, like caring and sharing for a change.

_Like Hell I'll cry on your shoulder, Sammy!_

"Huh? No, nothing yet." _Just stay calm and act like it doesn't bother you. He's fourteen, damn it! He doesn't know what you're feeling. He can't. He's just trying to read you. No problem, you're a master at hiding your feelings. Same old song. _"Tomorrow maybe. So whatcha watching?" Dean offered up his most confident smirk, his eyes crystal clear, void of any worry. _Yeah, right!_

Sam studied his brother's face for a moment more before he responded, sure he saw something behind Dean's eyes, something signally… _nah, Dean's fine… Dean's always fine._

"Gibson and Glover… Lethal Weapon." Sam smiled, knowing Dean couldn't resist the action flick.

"Yeah? Which one?"

"Three."

"Cool, at least it has Lorna instead of that wimpy, foreign chick that went and got herself killed." Dean smiled a huge grin and quirked his eyebrows. "You're a lucky man, Sammy. Lorna's hot and tough; gotta love a girl that can handle herself. This is a thousand times better than that damn sinking ship." And then he laughed, knowing that was one sure way to dispel his brother's concerns.

Sam smiled, relieved the old, reliable, cocky Dean was back. "I thought you liked Murtaugh's daughter, Rianne?"

Dean leaped onto the bed beside his brother, stretching out on his stomach with his chin resting on his folded hands. "I do. Of course what I _really_ loved is how she scandalized her dad with that condom commercial." He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned that cocky, eat-shit grin. "_That_ was hot… hell, it made me wanna buy rubbers."

"Dean, you _always_ wanna buy rubbers."

Dean arched his eyebrows again and his smirk was contagious, infecting his entire face. "Not as much as I wanna use 'em."

Sam let out a disgusted grunt and rolled his eyes. "And here I thought you actually _liked_ her."

Dean pulled back, his jaw dropped open and his eyes sparked as if he'd been attacked, displaying all the classics signs of being offended and unjustly judged.

_Yeah right! I'll believe that one when Dad stops hunting, or wendigos fly, whichever comes first._

Dean spoke with a brashness to his tone, "Hey… I told ya, I _do_ like her… after all, that girl is smokin' hot in the rescue scene."

Sam punched his brother on the arm. "Yeah? And now you'll just throw her over for Lorna? She's a little old for you, isn't she?"

"Sammy, you ever hear of Mrs. Robinson? Older women can teach you things… _important_ things." Dean twisted his mouth into a smirk and his eyes were shiny and bright, the joy that had been missing the last few days seemingly back. "I thought you were into studying, bro?" Dean leaned back on his right elbow laughing as he pushed his brother off the bed. Sam landed with a thud on the floor next to the wall. "Just wait 'til you find out what an experienced woman knows, kiddo." Dean gave his dirtiest laugh as he licked his lips before pressing them into a sensual smile accented by his deep dimples as his mind took him back to more pleasant times.

Sam scrambled off the floor and pounced on his brother, wrestling with him and trying in vain to pin him to the bed. Dean easily flipped him onto his stomach and pinned him, holding him down with a smug laugh.

"Say uncle."

"Go to hell, Dean."

Dean tightened his grip and laid across his brother so he could continue to watch the movie. Sam's face was turned away from the TV and buried in the bedding. He continued to struggle but Dean held firm, his left arm holding Sam in a headlock.

"Sammy, just say it." Dean waited and received only silence. "Well, all right then…, have it your way... I got all night." He settled in, softly humming Zeppelin to himself.

Sam cursed at how unfair his life was. Dean was older, stronger, and so damn dedicated to Dad's training regimen he was practically invincible. Another year or so and Sam might finally gain the height on him, but that wouldn't help when it was all awkward angles and gawky legs and _damn it, I shouldn't have to spend two hours working out in the gym every day. I shouldn't have to play soldier._

Sam continued to squirm under the weight of his brother. "Come on, Dean, let me up."

"Sammy, you know the rules," Dean stated matter-of-factly. "I got no pity. You're gonna have to say it."

"Dean, I'm missing the movie."

"Oh.., I'm so sorry."

"You bastard."

"Yeah, maybe, but you're the one laid out. It's pretty simple, bro… just one word."

Sam gasped from the pressure on his back and neck. He wished he could fool Dean into thinking he was really hurting him because he knew Dean would never inflict real pain on him. Sam knew that gambit wasn't gonna work anymore. It had once, back when Dean was fourteen, back before he had the experience to know just how much pressure to apply and how his sweet, innocent, baby brother would actually tell a fib if it gave him the upper hand in the brothers' battles.

The standoff continued for several minutes until Sam finally uttered the dreaded word.

"Uncle."

Dean immediately released him with a firm clasp to the back of his neck and a tousle of his shaggy hair. "Alright, that didn't hurt too much, now did it?"

Sam glowered at him. He rolled over and pulled a pillow under his chest as he situated himself in front of the TV to finish watching the movie.

Dean reached over and nudged him, trying to get a response.

"Stop goofing around," Sam snapped as he took a swipe at his hand. "They're coming to the good part."

"Yeah? And what's that?" Dean studied the TV before recognition crossed his face as a sly smile erupted. "Oh, right! They're gonna compare scars." Dean grinned as he confidently boasted, "I'll have 'em beat by the time I'm twenty-five."

Grunting into his pillow Sam turned on his side and glared at his brother. "You're such a jerk, Dean. Contrary to what you might believe, chicks don't really dig scars. They find them gross."

"Yeah, bitch? And how would _you _know what girls like?"

Sam stared at him, his eyes fierce and his bottom lip sticking out in the childish manner he had yet to outgrow.

Dean continued on, enjoying tormenting his kid brother. It was, after all, a perk of the job and definitely a more pleasant diversion for his mind, infinitely better than thinking about that freakin' movie and having to go back to that damn theater in the morning. "Let me guess… you read it somewhere?" Dean roared with laughter, finally totally relaxed, letting his anguish burn down if only for the moment. Dean started tickling his brother as Sam tried to roll away from him. "Sammy, we've got to get your nose out of the books. There are _other _things, you know?"

Sam was laughing uncontrollably from the sensation even as he swatted at his brother and tried to scowl. He finally got his brother's hands off of his stomach and shoved him hard. "Shut up!" he growled.

---

With the morning light came the stark reality another day of torment was upon him. Dean again felt Sam watching him, the atmosphere tense as if he was on the brink of saying something, but was waiting, for once holding his tongue and letting the moment pass.

_Good, Sammy… just let it be. Ain't nothing you can do to fix this so don't even bother trying. It's my problem… I'll handle it._

Sam watched as his brother drank his third cup of coffee in quick order. His hands steady on the cup, but something in his eyes seemed off, just slightly squirrelly, maybe actually… _scared?_

_I don't know what's wrong with you, Dean, but something sure is. You know, you don't always have to be the big, macho gunslinger facing down trouble all on your own. You could always ask for my help… _Sam shook his head in defeat. _Yeah, right! Like that's ever gonna happen._

"Sam, just stop it," Dean barked out, anger and frustration mixing with raw nerves to deliver a tone too harsh. Dean regretted it the moment he said it, his eyes showing remorse while his mind shoved it to the back into the darkness. The Winchesters weren't ones for apologies or sentimental moments. Life was hard and you learned to deal.

Sam startled back to the moment. "Stop what?" he innocently asked, his sad, puppy dog eyes blankly staring at his brother.

Dean huffed in disgust, angry mainly with himself, and his total lack of control. "All that thinking. You're gonna blow a fuse one of these days." Dean walked over to the sink and rinsed out his coffee cup. "It's not your job to worry. Just sit back and relax and let the grown-ups handle it."

Dean hoped that would end it. If Sam got mad enough he would roll up into a ball on his bed and pout. It might take him the whole day to get over it and that gave Dean one day of freedom without having to constantly be reminded he was a freaking wuss.

Sam stuck out that bottom lip again and rolled over on his side, facing away from his idiot brother. _Fine, be that way… _He was used to Dad being a bastard, all authoritative and distant, _but Dean?_ Dean could be a major pain-in-the-butt, but he was also the best friend Sam had and the best he would likely _ever _have, considering their warped lives.

As obnoxious as Dean could be when he really got into playing the role of big brother with his I-am-the-lieutenant-and-you-are-just-a-grunt games, Sam also knew he could always count on Dean to be there for him… to protect him from _whatever_… and there were a hell of a lot of bad whatevers out there that meant to do Sam harm. Dean would never let anyone or anything hurt his little brother, unless of course he was the one doing the hurting. He seemed to take that as a perk of the job, his inalienable right.

In total disgust for the circumstances of his life and with too many questions and no apparent answers, Sam laid claim to the remote and started flicking channels, stopping on an old ThunderCats cartoon. _Let the grown-ups handle it… yeah, right! Like Dean's a grown-up?_

---

"Sammy, I'm leaving."

Sam shifted away from the sound of his smartass brother, not wanting to deal with him now. He was tired of always being left out of everything, _treated like a baby._ Not that he wanted to be involved in the hunt, but it was the principle of the thing. If Dean was struggling with this spirit or whatever it turned out to be, then he should ask for help. Just accept a helping hand for once instead of making matters worse by pretending everything was fine. It was _obvious_ things weren't fine.

Dean gave his brother one last look as he stood in the doorway, the keys to the Impala jingling in his hand.

"Sammy, stay put. Last show is at ten. I'll be back by two." He waited for a response, greeted instead by an icy stare and a grunt. _Oh, Sammy, you always were so eloquent! _"Bolt the door," Dean instructed as he pulled it closed.

As soon as Dean left, Sam jumped up and pulled out the phonebook from the dresser drawer. Steadying it across his lap he thumbed through it and picked up the phone to make his call.

"Yeah, where are you located? Can you give me directions from the Crescent Motel off the highway?" He pulled out the motel stationary and pen from the drawer and jotted down the information. "How far is it?" He drummed the pen on the stand and a look of determination took over his face and he smiled. "Thanks."

_I'm not the baby, Dean. This time you're going to get my help whether you want it or not._

He leafed through the phonebook until he came to the city map and ripped it out, folding it and placing it in his jacket pocket before he took off out the door.

TBC


	6. He's Not Heavy, He's My Brother

Chapter Six – He's Not Heavy, He's My Brother

The building was brand new, a testament to modern architecture, but the insides were familiar and comforting. Sam felt like he was coming home, more like home than any fleabag motel they might spend a few nights in. The one place he always felt at ease was a library and when all else failed he knew answers could be found in the archives of the past. History does indeed repeat itself, and in their line of work research often meant the difference between success and failure. He excelled at research and he enjoyed it, not like Dean.

His brother could do the research if forced, _if_ his life depended on it, which in their line of work meant it quite often did; but Dean much preferred rushing in, shooting first with both barrels blazing, and asking questions later…, that is if anything was left alive to answer. Dad was always trying to temper Dean's enthusiasm for the hunt, trying to instill in him the wisdom of actually knowing what you might be facing off against before you actually stared the fugly beast down.

Not that Dean was careless or unprofessional. He might be deemed reckless by some, but then again, he always got the job done. He just did it in his own inimitable way and it worked. Dean was a hunter, no doubt about that. A lesser man would have gotten himself killed a long time ago. Sam used to worry about his safety, but these days he mainly worried about the toll the hunt left on his brother, the vacant, lost look that sometimes descended on him when the job got to be too much. The times when Dean needed to disappear with a willing woman or a bottle of whiskey and a six-pack and decompress.

Sam might have been young, but he'd already seen the price the job demanded. It was just one of the reasons he hated the life: the burden it placed on his family and the sacrifices they were forced to make on a daily basis. Dad was distant and detached, so often cold and harsh, hardened by the life and the worry. Dean never acknowledged it, as if Dad had a free pass and could do no wrong. Whatever slack he left on the homefront, Dean casually picked up and took care of, never admitting he was asked to do more than what could rationally be expected. It had been this way since Sam could consciously remember ever considering what their lives were like, and how different they were from regular folk. In other words, from always. Hardly normal, but this was his family and the only life he'd ever known.

The truly tragic part was Dean never questioned the life or the price he was asked to pay, content to be the diligent soldier in Dad's little war. Whatever pressures he felt seemed to silently build until he was ripe to explode and then he simply took off on his own and took care of it. Sam was never quite sure how, he just knew women and booze were usually involved. Dad most times didn't even seem to notice or if he did, he simply turned a blind eye to it, like he always had faith Dean would be alright. Hell, that's what everyone thought, Sam included… Dean was always alright… until he wasn't. Now for the first time in his life, Sam began to suspect that maybe Dean wasn't right at all. Maybe Dean was fallible after all was said and done, maybe… god forbid, human.

Now it was up to him to help big brother by finding that angle that would break this case wide open, some hidden piece of intel that Dad had somehow missed.

An elderly woman with a small gray bun affixed atop her head at an odd angle watched him with intense, almost beady, little eyes as he passed the front desk. He smiled in response, but his focus was on his surroundings as he glanced around the large, open entryway, surveying the scene and trying to plot out his first move.

"Can I help you?" her smoke-damaged voice asked in between choked coughs.

Sam grimaced as he stared into a face that was reminiscent of a skeleton. Her skin was a pasty white and stretched taut over hollowed out cheeks, dark circles under her eyes, and her mouth was weathered with a multitude of deep lines spidering out from her painted lips, the dark red lipstick only making her appearance more frightful from the stark contrast to her pale skin. If he'd been expecting a creature to hunt, he'd have paid close attention to this one. As it was, he only felt sympathy for her frail appearance. "I need to look at the newspaper accounts from the early 1900's."

"Local or national?" she inquired, her boney hand absently rubbing across her lips, probably aching for a cigarette to hold.

"Ah, local."

"Any particular year or did you just want to start at the beginning?"

Sam was distracted, still checking out where the exits were and observing the patrons, always on the lookout for possible signs of trouble. Even in a place as benign as a staid, respectable library his training was always at the forefront of his mind, drilled into him like his numbers and letters from a young age. He was especially on edge now. With Dean acting so peculiar it felt like anything was possible, like maybe the bulletproof shield the Winchesters seemed to have wrapped protectively around them was cracked, his impenetrable family at last vulnerable. He looked back at the librarian as she started hacking, trying to suck in another breath between coughs.

"Ma'am, you all right?"

She leaned over, taking in deep breaths. "Oh, I'm fine, son. Nothing a smoke won't cure. My break's not for another fifteen. Now, what year did you need?"

Sam shuddered from the disturbing image. It was amazing how people could delude themselves. No wonder so few believed in the supernatural. "Uh… 1912."

Once he was situated in front of the microfiche machine he got to work. Dad had previously done research and he was good, the best if you asked Dean, but maybe he missed something, maybe the answer did lie in the past buried in seemingly insignificant details. Research was Sam's area of expertise, deciphering details his life. It wouldn't be the first time he'd caught something the rest of his family missed in the rush to complete a job, time often playing as important a role as preparation in their line of work. Evil has a nasty habit of not waiting around for you to gather all the pertinent facts, instead delighting in carving up the innocents if you hesitate.

While Dean might be the best shot, and Dad could pick out a pattern of destruction that wouldn't even be a blimp on another hunter's radar, research and interpreting what the past had to say was Sam's forte. There were always multiple ways to approach a job, one not necessarily better than the other, but this was how Sam operated and he knew he had to find an answer. His brother needed him whether he was ready to admit it or not. Given the opportunity to help out, Sam could hardly resist. If this worked out he'd have bragging rights for the next month.

---

Dean smiled back at the hot chick checking him out as he hung around the lobby of the movie theater waiting until the last possible second to subject himself to the torture of the next showing. Three hours jammed into those painfully hard seats making his body ache as much as his head was more than enough… _thank you very much! _She started to make her move and he felt relieved he could divert his mind from the coming pain if only for a brief shining moment. His anticipation was evident on his face as his lips curled up into a cocky smirk, his eyes sharp and clear as he watched her cross the floor. His dimples letting her know that he too had noticed her.

"You don't live around here," she stated, curiosity smoldering behind her doe-like eyes, wide and intense, drinking him in. "You visiting someone?" Her tongue rolled out of her mouth and seductively swept across her lush lips drawing all focus to the succulent dusty-rose ribbons of pleasure.

Dean's mind took him to a more desirable locale where he could devour those lips on his way to even more pleasant pursuits. This miserable job shoved to the back burner, a very temporary, but delicious, respite. He felt stirrings down deep, his body aching for pleasure to replace the torment he'd been drowning within. He stood devouring her beauty with a stupid, slap-happy grin plastered across his face.

She waited and smiled at the stupor the poor boy seemed to be in, delighting in knowing she had that effect on him. "Pretty boy, you _can_ talk, right?" she whispered in a slight tease, already moving closer into his personal space to gaze into his piercing emerald eyes. He was a beautiful man and she wanted him… wanted him bad.

"Hmmm?" he murmured as he felt her breath upon his face. He leaned in, inhaling the subtle misting of lavender with a hint of mint, and admired the smooth texture of her flawless ivory skin, somehow able to ignore how she called him 'pretty boy', a term he'd heard on more than one occasion and normally instigated a fistfight. _Definitely _a fight if a guy says it… under present circumstances, he was in a forgiving mood. His eyes continued to peruse her model-perfect features. Her hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders in waves, a fiery red to match the passion in her eyes. He wanted to feel that smooth skin beneath his palms as he pulled her to him and devoured those tempting lips, wanted to run his fingers through her silky long locks, and lay her down and take her… _jeezus, it hasn't been that long, dude. Get a grip!_ He straightened up and ran his hands down the front of his shirt to wipe away the sweat clinging to his palms, and he was back on track, a hunter with a purpose. _Yeah, you know what you'd really like to be on the prowl for here… and it certainly ain't no freaking spirit._ He snapped to attention, a soldier on task, as he replied with a steady tone, "I'm on a job. I'll be wrapping it up soon." _I hope… Oh, God, how I hope!_

"Maybe when you have some spare time we could get together. I could, you know, show you the sights."

"Many sights to see around here?" He smirked, licking his lips in anticipation as he felt more at ease and in control. This was just his kind of girl. Small town hottie ready to rock and roll, tired of the same old faces and cheap thrills, ready to take on a new adventure and make his world spin. _Yeah, she could definitely turn my world on its axis._

"Not many, but I have access to anything worth seeing and I'd love to show you around."

_I bet you would._ He glanced behind her at the clock on the wall and cursed, his eyes squeezing closed and tasting the darkness soon to descend upon his soul. _Damn this job! _

"Sounds great, but… I… uh, my.., uh, movie's… " his voice trailed off as he felt himself again leaning in towards her charms, desperate to escape his fate before he pulled himself back with a start, "… I have… to… uh… _go_, but… maybe I could… uh… take you up on… that… uh… you know… after I… uh… finish my job?" He hoped the anxious tone of his voice and the complete lack of brain function was not too terribly noticeable. It was fine to show interest, beneficial in fact; he just didn't want to appear desperate, let alone come off as a blathering idiot. _Good luck there, dude!_ Desperate was definitely a turn-off. Stupid he wasn't so sure about; he had a pretty strong feeling she wasn't looking to discuss world events or math algorithms. _Me either, sweetheart! _

_Aloof, damn it! James Dean cool, remember? Dean Winchester cool for godssakes… or have you forgotten? A lone wolf… _His eyes flashed, sensitive and deep, as his mind raced. _Man, this job is so messing with my head. Damn it! _He tried to salvage his image, summoning up his most confident smirk to hide the tremble of terror he felt snaking its way under his skin. He momentarily buried his Titanic fears and addressed his last chance at refuge. He smiled at this fetching beauty before him and silently wondered if he'd already displayed too much rapture, but she seemed to be equally mesmerized so he hoped they were still good.

_Not that I am desperate, because Dean Winchester is __never__ desperate, but I will admit to being a little anxious. Anxious to put this miserable job behind me and eager to find some enjoyment again. It has been a while, way too long in fact. Then again, any break in the action could be considered too long. I am in my prime, can't let the pipes get rusty._

She sweetly smiled and fluttered her long eyelashes; her interest apparently still intact.

_Thank God! _

She leaned in and grabbed hold of his arm, her touch sweet, but firm, just enough to telegraph her still-active interest. "Oh, I'll be around. My family just got back from vacation and we'll be stuck in this boring town for the rest of the year. This theater is about the only diversion we have around here. Maybe when you finish up that job you could think of something else to occupy my time?"

Dean offered up his most confident, smug smirk as he let the word roll off his tongue, "Ab-so-lute-ly!"

"Well, my movie's about ready to start too. Have you seen it? Best movie in like _forever_. Titanic. I just _love_ Leo, and how romantic is it that he _dies_ for her?"

Dean's face froze with his familiar smirk plastered across it, chiseled in stone and impenetrable, while his eyes nervously darting about offered the only indication of his distress. His body was still ready for that tumble in the hay, but his brain was lamenting the death of a beautiful, but vacuous, mind. _Thank God, she still has a hot bod. _

"Yeah, Titanic. Some kinda movie, huh?" he choked out; hoping the despair in his eyes was beyond her comprehension. _It's a good thing she has a bod to die for, figuratively speaking… __only__ figuratively speaking, or I would be so out of here. Please, God, don't tell me she's into Woody Allen._

"See you around, handsome." She turned and raced off toward the theater at least giving him a parting visual to hold him over for the next three and a half hours. Her tight jeans were form fitting over her curves, just begging for attention and he was more than willing to provide it.

---

Sam printed off the list of locals who either booked passage on the ship or lost their lives that fateful night. The list wasn't very long and it wouldn't take long to track down their histories, whether any descendants still lived in this town, and if any noticeable events occurred after the sinking of the great ship. Research was always the answer when a difficult spirit refused to co-operate. _Why the heck can't Dean figure that out? You know why! 'Cause he's a stubborn ass, that's why. _Sam confidently grinned as he placed the papers in his notebook. He again glanced about the serene library, appearing safe and secure just like the movie theater his brother was imperiled within, before heading for the door. _Dean is in for a rude awakening. Guess he needs little brother more than he realizes._

TBC


	7. Acting 101

Chapter Seven – Acting 101

The movie sputtered and stopped, the screen going dark for an instant before the bright light of the projector cast it in brilliant white. The auditorium itself seemed to be expectantly waiting, trembling and humming with a strange energy before the silence was finally broken as a loud gasp rose up from the crowd, moaning and crying out as if they were dying in the frigid depths of the Atlantic. Rolling his eyes, Dean let out an audible sigh of relief. _Finally! _He stood up and looked around the theater, the EMF detector in his hand registering only faint readings like the spirit had already vanished. He nervously chuckled… _Elvis has left the building… don't I wish! _

_At least Elvis had talent and style. He was, after all, the King of Rock and Roll, gotta respect that. Leo might be an okay actor, but his choice in roles was pathetic. Obviously he was following Cameron down the road to obscurity, doomed to all the pretty-boy roles he could handle. I guess someone's gotta give the tween groupies somebody to swoon over. Poor bastard!_

The theater owner was immediately on the scene, addressing the crowd and assuring them full refunds for their inconvenience while simultaneously shooting daggers at Dean.

_Yeah, I know, I'm a screw-up. Let's see you hunt Casper!_

"I don't want a refund. Please, just fix the movie," a desperate cry moaned.

A second voice joined in, "Yeah, we'll wait. How long can it take to splice it back together? My nephew, the idiot, could do it."

It started off with a few, loud, rabble-rousers and escalated into an all-out fractious war zone. The moviegoers were rabid, crazed on this Titanic juju juice. They simply refused to leave, intent that somehow, someway, they would find out the ending of their insipid movie.

_What? They need to go back to school and pay attention in history class for a change? Hello! The.. ship.. sank..! _

"Please, everyone, just go home. The movie will be playing tomorrow. Come back then. If you don't want a refund, just bring your ticket stub back for free admittance." The owner was frantic, pleading for reason, which considering the apparent IQ of this crowd was truly a desperate hope. "Just go home, come back tomorrow."

One teenage girl was particularly vocal, "Oh, god, what happens? I can't wait. I HAVE TO KNOW NOW! I HAVE TO!"

The theater owner looked to Dean for answers, his eyes squeezed into tiny slits above nostrils that were flaring out and snorting like a bull ready to charge. He looked like any second he was going to blow a gasket.

Unimpressed, Dean stared the jerk straight in his beady little eyes and arched his brows as if to ask… _What? Like I need to hold these freaks' hands? I'm a hunter, a protector of innocents. Hell, call me a spirit zapper, whatever… but I am not a nursemaid! _

The bastard who owned the theater had the John Winchester, disapproving, death-to-the-infidels-glower down pat. He pierced Dean's resolve with one icy stare. He walked over to Dean and agitatedly _discussed _the situation. With a dismissive scowl and a crude hand gesture he walked away and left the crowd in Dean's hands.

Mumbling a litany of curses, Dean disgustedly ran his hand down his face and surveyed the situation. Only a scattering of patrons had taken the owner up on his offer to return tomorrow, the rest were all staring expectantly at him to save them from their anguish. Hell, that _is _what he does, he _saves _people… but from _real_ evil, not this manufactured drivel that Hollywood was passing off as entertainment. _Blockbuster movie, my ass!_

Taking a deep breath, Dean did what he always did when faced with adversity; he tackled it head on with biting wit and scathing sarcasm. "Look, just settle down…, don't _freak out_. It's _only_ a movie, not like it's gonna win the Noble peace prize or cure cancer." He chuckled then as his next thought cleared his internal censor and careened past his lips, "Hell, it might just clean up at the Razzies though, but then again there's always some mighty stiff competition there, so you never know. I think _Halloween the Thirtieth_ might give it a run for the money, but personally, it _definitely_ has my vote."

"ONLY a movie? Are you insane?" one woman in the back yelled, obviously off her Prozac.

"Uh, no… _are you?" _he countered, quirking his left brow in obvious disapproval, his body automatically shifting into a military stance, ready in a defensive posture.

He was met by a wall of resistance as the movie-goers banded together to hurl obscenities at him. He'd been around some rough company before, had a vocabulary worthy of a longshoreman, but even he picked up a few new colorful phrases. There were some choice words he actually wanted to sit down with the perp hurling the lewd remarks and ask for a detailed definition… maybe even a diagram… _you know, for future reference. And Sammy thinks I don't do research! _

"Everybody just calm down. Look, we're going to tell you what happens, alright?" a familiar voice called out.

Dean peered into the crowd searching out the source, dreading the truth before he ever spotted the speaker as he approached.

"SAMMY? What the _hell_ are you doing here?" he gasped.

"Looks like I'm here to save your ass," Sam replied with a confident grin, locking eyes with his brother.

"That'll be the day."

"Well, _Buddy_, looks like today's the day."

Dean straightened his posture so he was towering over his brother, glowering at him and ignoring the reference to Buddy Holly that would normally have him beaming with pride. "Sammy, WHAT are you doing here?" His voice was firm and strong, the closest he could come to mimicking the timbre of their dad's commanding tone.

Sam stood next to his brother and took him by the arm, turning him away from the crowd so they could continue their conversation in relative privacy, knowing Dean didn't want any witnesses to what he had to say.

"Look, Dean, I don't need to deal with any of your macho bullshit. Face it, you need my help. You sure as hell, need _somebody's_ help and since Dad took off _as usual_, then I guess it's up to me to back you up." Sam's eyes had a steely cast to them and his voice was two registers lower, exhibiting the determined edge he usually reserved for when he was questioning Dad's authority. "Just accept the help and let's finish this job and move on. ALRIGHT?_"_ Sam released his brother's arm and stood defiantly before him.

Dean wanted to protest. He wanted to argue until the cows came home and defend his ability to handle this all on his own. As much as he wanted to insist he was fine, he knew the truth, and it appeared Sam did too. _Damn it! _For once Dean Winchester looked into his brother's eyes and saw a hunter and his heart swelled up with pride, _a parent's pride_. _My little whippersnapper is growing up! _He knew Sam hated the life, the jobs, and the constant struggles. He knew his little brother would rather bury his face in a book or watch _anything_ on the tube instead of jumping willingly into the thick of the battle.

Dean's eyes got a little misty as he reacted to his brother choosing to help _him _in spite of his reservations and own desires. To have his brother offering assistance, to have him standing firm beside him in this hunt, eased the anguish that had been twisting in his gut and threatening to undo him. _Alright, Sammy, we do this together._

Dean offered up his all-too-familiar cocky smirk. "Don't go all Rambo on my ass. You want in on the action," Dean paused for a moment just to watch Sam squirm, "you got it." He playfully slapped his hand to the side of his brother's face, feeling baby soft skin in stark contrast to the steel tone in his voice, not even a hint of stubble on the smooth cheek. "There's plenty of action to go around, didn't realize you were so hot for the hunt."

Sam relaxed under his brother's welcoming embrace. _Well, that went better than I thought. Looks like even Dean can use his brain and realize his limitations when push comes to shove._

The natives were getting restless waiting for the resolution of the brothers' personal little drama, caring little for the Winchesters' bonding moment, only wanting their damn movie back or at the very least the answers to all their questions.

"We want Jack and Rose."

"We want Jack and Rose."

"WE WANT JACK AND ROSE!"

One voice became two and then a dozen, ending up as too many to clearly count. The chants got louder and the crowd became more belligerent, unwilling or unable to be reasonable. Soon the entire theater joined in on the insanity. They started stomping their feet and it felt like a herd of elephants was stampeding towards them ready to pound them into the ground. Mass hysteria had created a monster. Unfortunately, it was not the kind of monster the Winchesters were used to dealing with.

Dean grimaced as all reason left his brain and he reacted as he normally did. Since guns blazing was out of the question he resorted to running off at the mouth. "Yeah? Well, I want Jack and Rose too, and once I get 'em, you know what I'm gonna do with them? Huh?" His arms were flailing about, egging on the crowd, almost daring them to step a toe over his line of protection. "Let's just say, it ain't gonna be pretty," he taunted.

The crowd gasped and silence filled the theater. Dean smugly turned and grinned at his brother, confident he had quelled their little uprising. "See, Sammy, you just gotta show 'em who's the boss." It only took a minute for the error in his judgment to become apparent. Slowly the incessant chants returned in a wave of passion as that one annoying person again started the torrential backlash.

The voices again loudly rising up, rejecting reason and refusing to leave. The walls themselves rumbling from the racket.

"Titanic, Titanic, Titanic." Over and over they screamed their rebel yell.

Before Dean fanned the flames of dissent again, Sam stepped forward and motioned for the crowd to silence. Dean watched in awe as his kid brother calmed the crazed beasts circling them, looking to devour them if they denied their demands.

Sammy calmly spoke, "Look, no problem. You want to know how the movie ends?"

A huge roar responded, "YES!"

Sam grinned at his brother, patting him on the back and nudging him forward. "My brother here will tell you all the details." Sam leaned up and whispered in Dean's ear, "Won't you, bro?" with a sweet smile.

Dean shuddered as the words reverberated down into his soul and he felt the ground give way. He hated public speaking to start with. He was a man of action, not words, even if he did have a flair for a biting, scathing comment or a witty repartee. He felt himself tumbling into a black void, the terror he'd experienced over this job morphing into total humiliation and absolute, abject horror. Truth be told, he'd rather face down a rampaging creature of the night ready to suck all the blood from his body and gnaw on his mangled bones than give a dissertation, even if he _could _visualize everyone in their underwear. Heck, he was an expert at that without the public speaking, but only with the pretty girls. He'd hardly want to envision chubby Joe Citizen with his hairy chest and truck-driver arms leering at him in his skivvies. He definitely had no desire to see most of the freaks in this audience period, let alone in their underwear, aside from his hot lobby girl who he'd just noticed standing off to the side observing him.

He set his feet in a hunter's stance and dug in, prepared to battle all the evil they could bring. That was certainly preferable to offering one damn word about this freakin' movie. His mind was set, no way was he giving a talk on this stupid movie. No way in hell! _Over my dead body! Bring it! _

As if he could read his mind, Sam smiled at the crowd but again spoke steady and low to his brother, "Dean, do you _want_ to die? 'Cause I think this crowd just might be willing to accommodate you if you don't give them what they want." He looked up with puppy dog eyes and smiled with the sweetest smile Dean had ever seen, _at least on a guy_. "Dean, _please_… _I_ don't want to die_."_

Dean anxiously studied the intense, bloodthirsty faces watching him, hanging on every word, just waiting for him to give them all the gory details. _I've died and gone to hell… _He still would have held firm, the opinions and desires of the masses hardly holding sway over Dean Winchester, if not for the presence of his kid brother standing right there beside him on the front lines of war. The determining factor in this little stand-off was Sam… _Sammy_. It was _always_ Sammy. He'd spent his life protecting the kid; he could hardly fail him now.

_Yeah, right… Dad would certainly understand… Sammy died in a stampede at the local multiplex because big brother was shy about speaking in front of a crowd. NOT! Over my dead body!_

Dean started to speak, but faltered, stuttered, and looked lost. He nervously shifted his feet as his mouth opened and then abruptly closed again, his eyes squeezed tight in one last desperate hope that when he opened them the theater would be miraculously empty. _Yeah, right… fat chance!_ One more insistent gaze from Sammy, along with a firm push forward, and he sucked it up and reluctantly started to speak.

"Alright, everybody, listen up." His eyes were darting over the crowd, still gauging their skills and whether he and Sam could fight their way out of here without too much trouble. The fighting credentials of this pathetic, chronically out-of-shape crowd appeared negligible, but the mass numbers and the fervor in their eyes didn't bode well for an easy getaway. One quick glance toward Sammy and he again resolved to do the job, _whatever_ that entailed. He glared at the crowd, defiance still lingering in his gaze, but resigned to the inevitable. He felt the spotlight upon him as he faced his punishment. _And I sure as hell have no idea what I ever did to deserve this! _ He swallowed down his pride and spoke,"Jack dies, Rose lives, and the ship's at the bottom of the ocean. End of story," Dean gasped out with a tentative smile and an offhand wave, "G'night everybody."

"No, there's more. There has to be _more_," the voice cried out.

"Oh, yeah, _right_… the necklace sinks too. That's it, folks." Dean again tried to motion to the crowd to disperse, to head for the lobby and leave them in peace. _Like that's going to happen with these freaks? What is wrong with these people?_

The caterwauling began, steadily increasing in volume and fervor. "Wait, no. We need more."

"We need details."

"_Please._"

Dean stood firm. _I told them, goddamnit. That's as far as I'm willing to go for survival. What the hell do they want from me?_

Sam was the only voice of reason in the midst of all this insanity, but Dean wasn't in the mood to listen to him, not with what he had to say.

"Dean, tell them the rest."

"Sammy, that's it. What more could there possibly be? Or are you the one who slept through history class?"

Sam was right there in Dean's face, pushing, demanding. "Dean, you're going to have to do it."

"No, Sammy, I'm NOT." _I've already given a pound of flesh and a gallon of blood, that's it. I got nothin' left._

Sam's bottom lip pushed out, his stare more deadly than the rabid crowd's.

_Nothing left… nothing.., N-O-T-H-I-N-G… _Sam didn't give an inch; if anything he leaned in closer, right into Dean's personal space with a look that indicated he wasn't going anywhere… not until Dean did what he wanted him to do. Dean released a soft sigh …_that is, nothing except my pride…_

Dean tried one last time to reach his kid brother, hoping for reason to put him back on _his_ side. "Sammy, would you blink, for christssake? You're gonna go blind."

"Dean, they're not leaving until you do it."

Dean stomped his foot. It was worthless, but it made him feel slightly better, like maybe he actually had some control over this situation. _If Sammy can act like a petulant child, then I sure as hell can too._ "Damn it, Sammy."

"Just do it, Dean."

"I already did."

"_Dean._"

Dean never could resist Sammy, especially once he added the puppy dog eyes, sad and pleading.

Dean took a deep breath. _I'm a hunter, I've faced worse. I can do this… I can… or… _he swallowed hard, pain contorting his face _ …maybe not. _"Look folks, I told you what I remembered, it's not like I have the script."

_Damn it, Dean, quit stalling and just do it!_

Sam broke in, torpedoing his brother's escape plan as he loudly asked, "Dean, how many times have you seen the movie?"

Dean startled, shocked his brother would expose him to ridicule like this, even if he had been teasing him relentlessly over the past month on his girly long hair. They were _brothers,_ he expected loyalty and regardless of past behavior, he hardly deserved this. He snapped at the kid, "Not relevant, Sammy. Just.. shut.. the.. hell.. up.." His eyes adding the one word his mouth refused to utter… _please._

"Well over a dozen times," Sam loudly proclaimed, withstanding a fierce look from big brother, while the crowd buzzed with admiration, "Right, bro?"

The crowd broke out clapping. _Clapping!?!? _

Dean cringed. His eyes dissolving into a sad, childlike hurt.

"Oh, my, God! You lucky man!" Dean's nemesis screamed out.

_Yeah, right, not exactly what I was thinking._ _Hasn't even gotten me laid. _Dean's internal voice again sounding suspiciously like Bruce Willis. _No time.., gotta a job to do... Be the good little soldier, Dean... Screw it! I just wanna get laid! I am soooo overdue some action for watching this crap._

Dean stared at the mass of crazed eyes upon him, searching.., hoping.., desperate… _a pack of rabid hell hounds would be less threatening._

"Please, tell us."

"Please."

"Oh, yes, please."

He heard the whistle blowing in his head and he was beyond all restraint. Sam watched in awe as his reluctant, obstinate brother relinquished all control. Dean turned with a confident air and marched to the front of the theater, basking in the attention focused upon him. He passionately started reenacting the final emotional moments of the movie, perfectly capturing the heightened sensibilities and tension as the ship rose up out of the water before slipping back into its icy grave. Amid the frantic screams of the panicking passengers, Rose and Jack whispered their heartfelt final goodbyes as they shivered in the frigid water. Dean gasped out Jack's dying words and the audience grew silent before a thunderous applause again rose up snapping him out of his trance. His face twisted and his eyes seemed lost behind a veil of sadness and panic as he realized where he was and what he had again just done. Shame crossed his face alongside confusion, his mind reeling from his total lack of control.

_What the hell is happening to me?_

TBC


	8. Author, Author

Chapter Eight – Author, Author

Sam waited until the theater lights came on and the moviegoers filed out to approach his brother, using the time to consider what he had witnessed. Dean clearly wasn't himself when he emo-acted Leo's final scenes. The last thing Dean would _ever _do is go to the front of the class and recite that drivel. There was no doubt whatsoever, _obviously _he had been possessed. Sam just wasn't sure how or why or what-the-hell they were going to do about it. Dean didn't seem to understand what had happened when he returned to his senses. He looked so lost and confused standing there before the huge screen silhouetted by the bright light from the projector, his eyes wide and wild, like that familiar deer trapped in the headlights of an approaching semi, paralyzed by fear and unable to think, or move.

After the audience finished dispersing, Sam moved to his brother's side and when Dean saw him the relief that flooded his eyes was heartbreaking, like he was little boy lost and now found. A child's heart seizing in terror at being abandoned in a huge, ominous department store with the scary strangers, and then rejoicing at being rescued by loving parents. Sam reached out and gently touched his brother's arm. _No wonder he's been so freaked out!_

Dean jumped at the unexpected touch, but he recovered quickly, burying his confusion and concerns for the sake of maintaining his image. He was the big brother, the protector of Sammy, a hunter… _I gotta get a grip here. No time on the drive home to plaster on the false front. Sammy's right here… right now… watching. Oh, God, what's happening to me?_

Dean turned to his brother and grinned. "Well, I guess we showed 'em, huh, dude?" Looking around the empty theater he pulled out the flask of whiskey and took a quick swig, the burn of the liquor a welcome retreat. "So, little brother, you got any ideas? Casper talking to ya?" He smiled that familiar Dean smile, cocky and sure, his hand steady as he tousled the shag on his brother's head.

"Dean… " Sam stammered, suddenly unsure how to broach this subject, wanting to soften the news that Dean was a receptacle for this spirit, a conduit to the other side helping the spirit fulfill its desires. _Dean sure is gonna hate this. He hates these things and the thought of one of them snaking their way through him is gonna really freak him out. Not to mention piss him off… big time!_

"Yeah, Sammy? You got something?" Dean casually asked. No worry in his voice, a hunter on task for the job.

"Dean, you're not going to like this, but… " Sam was shuffling his feet, staring at the ground and stalling… hoping some kinder, gentler approach would ease Dean's pain, but knowing _nothing _would temper this news. _Damn it, just spit it out. Ain't no way to sugarcoat this one._

"Come on, Sammy. Cat got your tongue? If you got somethin', let's hear it." Dean studied the concerned look on his brother's face, his bottom lip absently being chewed and worried like a trapped wolf willing to gnaw off its own foot to escape its fate. He smirked, his cocky grin reaching up to sincere eyes, a bare whisper of dread lurking there, somehow knowing if Sammy was this scared it had to be bad, but that just meant he had to be even stronger and show no fear. He offered up a confident laugh, a strained effort to relieve the tension. "Come on, bro, can't be all _that_ bad." His voice went deeper, coaxing the bad news from his brother. _I mean, how bad could it be? Like it could possibly __get__ any worse? After all, I have seen this stupid movie… how many times now? It don't get any worse than that!_ "Sammy…, _dude_.., come on… spill."

_Maybe it won't hurt so much if I don't draw it out? _

Sam took one gulp of air and the words burst out of him in a rush. "Dean, I think the spirit is getting inside you… possessing you and making you act out Leo's part." Dean continued staring at his brother, eyes fixed and unresponsive, almost appearing dead.., unfeeling.., vacant… _nobody's home. _Sam's small voice squeaked out, "Dean?" He waited, but his brother's expression didn't change, frozen with that empty, blank look on his face, no emotion registering. The longest minute Sam had ever lived through passed and finally Dean's eyes started to move, to tentatively respond to his surroundings, flickering with a faint light from within the darkness. "Dean, did you hear me?" Sam whispered, honestly scared this might be the final push over the edge for his struggling brother.

Dean slowly smiled as the idea filtered through his thoughts, his head gently nodding in realization. "God, that makes sense… you know, I've been so edgy lately… _definitely_ haven't been myself." His smile grew into a blinding grin, white teeth bared, eyes lit up with life, and his dimples… _damn, if those dimples weren't crevices to rival the Grand Canyon. _He sat down in one of the seats to reflect, and his shoulders eased, the tension dissolving, a tremendous weight lifting off of him as his entire body relaxed into a casual slouch in the chair. _Damn, it makes sense. Shoulda known… Now that we know what we're facing, we can waste the bastard!_

"Dean? I thought this would freak you out… you know.., having something inside of you like that?" Sam was scared to ask, but he needed to know where his brother's head was. He needed to know if he could depend on Dean. _Please, Dean, be okay with this… I __need__ you to be okay. _Intent, hopeful eyes gazed upon his brother, waiting for a sign.

"Freak me out? Damn straight it freaks me out." Dean stood up and shuddered, shaking out his arms and cracking his neck as his head moved from side to side. "That's why we're gonna waste the son of a bitch." He placed his hand on Sammy's shoulder in a firm grip, a fresh determination firing through his senses. "This freakin' bastard should have known better than to mess with me. I'm gonna kick its fugly ass back to hell.., or the other side.., or _wherever_-the-hell it came from."

Sam sighed in relief, his cocky, kick-butt, ghost-busting brother was back. "You _know _I've got your back, dude." Sam offered a relieved, totally happy grin. "You don't mess with a guy's brother."

"Damn straight. This sonofabitch has the Winchesters on its trail. It's history."

The brothers fanned out and checked over the theater, their EMFs registering slightly higher readings in the seats to the right of the theater. One particular seat made the needle jump to its highest reading and Dean paused at that seat, his hand gripping the back of the seat, deep in thought.

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asked, noticing the intense, solemn look on his brother's face, a rare look usually reserved for particularly intricate investigations or when he was plotting his next prank on his brother… _or when the vast quantities of spicy food he devoured at supper decided to stage an uprising. _

Dean looked up as the wheels turned; obviously _something_ was going on inside there.

_That in itself could be a dangerous proposition with Dean. Being so rare and all… God, Sammy, way to be a bitch… Remember, he's your brother and he's in trouble. Cut him a break, would ya?_

"Dean, what is it? You know what this means?" Sam inquired as Dean sat down in the seat, staring at the screen deep in thought.

"Not sure, but there's this girl… "

Sam quickly interrupted with a disapproving huff. "Dude, not _now._ God, you are unbelievable!"

Dean offered up a disgusted grunt and his I-can-be-more-than-a-sex-maniac-and-I'd-appreciate-it-if-you'd-realize-it look. "Sammy, I'm not banging her or looking to… " _at this precise moment._ "I'm working a case here, comprende?"

Sam quieted and listened, regretting he had doubted his brother yet again. _But you really can't blame me, all things considered. We are talking about Dean here. Dean and girls, well… enough said._

"Sammy, she was _here_, watching the movie and I think she was sitting in this seat. At least right in this area… I don't know. It could be nothing or… "

Sam was right there with him, the trail hopefully at last leading them to this spirit. "Maybe she's connected to the spirit. Dean, what's her name?" Sam started pulling out his research, his list of names on the top of his folder.

Dean squirmed. "Her name?"

"Yeah, Dean, you DID get her name, didn't you?"

Dean shrugged, his eyebrows arching while his lips pursed into a lopsided half-grimace, "Not exactly."

"Not exactly!?! You either did or you didn't, not exactly a gray area here, Dean."

"Hey, we didn't have a lot of time to talk about personal stuff. She said her family just got back from vacation. Sounded like they were big around these parts, ties to the community and all." Dean defensively offered what little info he had. "If I'da known I had to recite her family history, I'd have interrogated her properly, Sammy."

Sam smiled as he recognized Dean's defensive rationale. "So, Dean, how hot is she?"

His brother's eyes lit up and his smile was radiant. "Oh, Sammy, she's definitely a ten. Bo's got nothin' on her."

Rolling his eyes, Sam tried to salvage the situation. "Alright. Dean, do you think you can track her down? We need to see if she has a connection to the ship."

"Sammy, don't worry, I got it covered." Dean gave his brother a wink and took off toward the exit. "Come on."

The Winchesters were used to gathering information, unearthing hidden facts, and accomplishing the impossible. Finding one hot girl in a small town couldn't be all _that_ hard; at least that's what Dean figured, especially since she'd indicated she hung around the movie theater a lot. _A few questions and I'm sure someone will know her from my description. I can definitely paint a picture of her. Yep, her image is right there, seared in my mind._

As they exited their theater and entered the lobby Dean let out an audible sigh of relief. _Huh, that was easier than I thought. _Dean triumphantly grinned as he led his brother over to the snack bar where a familiar body was leaning against the counter watching the hallway leading to the lobby. She shifted her perfect-ten body as they approached, pushing her ample chest out to full advantage and seductively licking her sensuous lips.

"Looking for someone?" he inquired of the stunning girl standing before them.

She offered a teasing smile and Sam immediately knew why Dean was so smitten. They were large and perky, and as far as Sam could tell, were real. Dean was the expert; he was sure he'd get a full report later that would confirm his observations. Her body language also conveyed a certain willingness to get friendly, particularly with his big brother.

_God, Dean, I so do not need to be seeing this. You think Titanic was painful? How about watching your brother get friendly with the town tramp? Do you even care if she can't string together two words? _Sam tried to shake off his self-righteous indignation, but it was pretty damn impossible to ignore the obvious as he observed Dean's reaction to her. His brother was grinning and acting like an idiot, fawning over her and gushing out lame pick-up lines. _I guess not… what a jerk! The horny bastard._

"Hey, handsome. You were great in there. Why didn't you tell me you'd seen the movie that many times? It was so cool how you knew all the lines." She had now moved to close the distance between them, snuggling up against him, her hand wrapping around his back, stroking over his broad shoulders, purring in contentment. "Wow, I mean, that was so, so _cool!"_

Dean nervously smiled, almost blushing that she saw him perform his one man show.

_Ouch! That one's gotta hurt! Especially since he seems to really like this girl. _Sam mentally slapped himself. _Get real, Sammy, like when would he __not__ like a girl like this?_

Dean was nothing if not smooth, easing closer to this girl and working his magic.

Sam rolled his eyes at the sight before him. _Yeah, Dean's smooth. So smooth he makes a point of saying it every chance he gets. His preferred term is 'velvety smooth', not that big brother is arrogant or anything… _

As the bombshell girl gazed into his eyes, mesmerized by his previous display of acting talent, Dean modestly replied, "Oh, that? That was nothing. Just trying to help out." He leaned into her and placed his arm around her waist and whispered in her ear. "So, I didn't catch your name."

She smiled a huge, freakin' grin and snuggled closer. _Like that was even possible?_

_Yeah, from the looks of things, Dean's dry spell has dried up and blown away. Looks like rain… maybe a torrential downpour._

"Shelly… Shelly McIntire."

Dean smiled in turn. "Dean Winchester, and this here is my kid brother, Sammy."

"It's _Sam_."

Dean arched his eyebrows and cocked his head towards his brother. "Kids. Whatcha gonna do?"

She laughed. "Yeah, I have a kid sister too. Kinda hard to shake them sometimes." She smiled though when she leaned towards Sam. "Sam, so good to meet you."

_Like I didn't hear what you just said? You think I'm as stupid as you? _

"Dean..., the _job?"_ Sam not so gently pushed, letting his irritation at being a third wheel show.

Dean's attention flashed back to his brother and the reason they were here. "Yeah, _right._ So, _Shelly,_ you have a personal interest in Titanic or you just like a good love story?"

She sweetly smiled as she dipped her hand lower onto Dean's hip.

_Man, can she keep her hands off of him, for maybe like ten seconds? Geez, get a room, guys! I really, really don't need to be seeing this. _Sam tried to ignore the obvious flirtation and cut to the chase, "Did you know anyone on the Titanic? Lose any family when it went down?"

She turned her attention to Sam and actually seemed to be thinking. "No, but my grandma lost her fiancé when it sank."

Dean's attention was now fully on the job, his hunter instincts overriding his teenage hormones, which in all honesty, makes a strong statement on how effective their dad's training had been. "Really? What do you know about him?"

"Well, just that he was coming back from performing in a theater in London."

"_Performing?"_ both brothers asked in unison, their eyes connecting on the same thought before they continued on in sync with barely an echo, "He was an actor?"

"Yeah. My grandma was supposed to go over to London with him, but her family wouldn't allow it. Wasn't proper." She smiled, tossing her hair, and angling her face closer to Dean. "Rose reminds me of Grams, you know, how they tried to make her all proper and all, and how she rebelled. You'd think they'd copied Gram's life."

"Really? So is your grandma still around?" Sam asked, hoping they might have a stronger connection to this spirit, even if it was a hundred-year-old woman. After all, old Rose still seemed to have plenty of stories to tell.

For the first time Sam saw genuine emotion on Shelly's face as sadness momentarily flashed across her pretty features. "No, Grams died two months ago. So sad, she so wanted to see this movie. She always talked about Titanic and how tragic it all was." She took only a moment to return to a smile, the memories of Grams bringing a grin to her face. "Grams was _amazing_. What a life, but she never forgot Jackson. He was the love of her life. You know, he was her first lover." Shelly's sly smile indicated she found the thought of her grams having a secret lover back then so scandalously delicious. "I don't think she ever forgave herself for not making the trip with him, for letting her family keep her all prim and proper. At least keeping up the appearance of being proper. After he died, she really cut loose."

"How?" Dean inquired, drawn into the story of her grams and her lost lover, their story definitely more interesting than the manufactured love story of Jack and Rose.

"Oh, she did it all. She joined the circus for a while, and she wore pants all the time like Hepburn, and she went to Hollywood and gave acting a try. Did four movies until she left that because the studios wanted to control her. She was a pistol, never let society or any man tell her how to act. I have her diaries. She wrote it all down."

"Huh. You think, maybe, we could take a look at those diaries?" Dean asked.

"Why? Why would you want to read my gram's diaries?"

"Just the parts around Titanic sinking. We're kinda researching a project on Titanic. That was the job I told you about. You know, the _real_ stories behind Titanic." Dean gave his most sincere smile, a smile that could get a female bank manager to open up the vaults for him… and then insist on helping him take the loot back to his place. "Your grams sounds fascinating, just the kind of focus we're looking for with our book."

"Book? You're writing a book? Oh, Grams would be thrilled to be the focus of your book!"

TBC


	9. The Master Plan

Chapter Nine – The Master Plan

Shelly was more than willing to hand over her gram's diaries if it meant immortalizing her in print, and while Sam felt bad about deceiving her, Dean simply shrugged it off as just another part of the job. Dean always was more casual about the lying, cheating, and credit card fraud, like he enjoyed being on the outskirts of society acting the outlaw. He and Dad always justified it as required for the job, and considering their line of work, a necessary evil. Regardless of whatever reservations Sam might have had about invading the privacy of a dead woman and lying to her granddaughter, they had a spirit to vanquish, and the more they knew about him the better their chance at success.

It was strange having Dean totally invested in the research, for once wanting to know all the facts before facing this spirit. Sam sensed Dean wasn't going to take any more chances with this ghost. This was personal, and he wanted it gone. He'd already tried facing off against it without the intel and that hadn't worked out so well. Now he wanted to insure success.

Gram's affair with Jackson and the sinking of Titanic happened to occur as she was finishing up one diary and starting another. That was fortuitous for the Winchesters, providing each of them with a diary and a glimpse into those times as they scoured the journals for clues. Watching Dean intently reading the diary was a familiar sight reminding Sam that his brother often studied their dad's journal and almost knew it by rote, able to quickly open it up to the correct pages for info on a Wendigo or Werewolf or a hundred other dark creatures of the night. In the past he'd always kidded Dean about not reading and his brother always flippantly responded he'd wait for the movie to come out, but the truth was Dean was perfectly capable of reading and he _did_. He just read what interested him, not necessarily what Sam or society thought he should. Aside from reading about guns and hot rods, Dean was always quick to point out he _was _the resident expert on the editorial merits of those insightful Playboy articles.

After an hour of intense study Dean rose and stretched. "You got anything, Sammy?"

Sam glowered at him. "Are you dense, Dean? I've told you, it's Sam."

Dean simply smirked like he always did. "Yeah, right, Sammy's all grown up now. When you gonna start wearing a suit and tie? Huh, kiddo? Whatcha gonna be? A doctor? Lawyer?" Dean released a low chuckle, "Maybe an Indian Chief?"

"Maybe," Sam defiantly snapped at his brother, "I'm sure as hell not going to be a hunter."

Dean shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Whatever." But his eyes showed a glimmer of pain behind his brave front, like a kid who'd been asked to surrender his favorite toy to the neighborhood toy drive. The child trying to remain strong because he knew it was the right thing to do, but it pained him all the same, leaving a hole that even a brand new toy placed under his tree on Christmas morning could never fill. Knowing _nothing_ would ever replace what he had willingly given up. Dean's voice was gruff, detached, as he focused on the job, "So... _Sam_… you got anything?"

"Well, it looks like Shelly's gram and this guy Jackson were quite serious. They were very… _adventurous_… " Sam stopped and his face flushed and his ears turned pink when he realized his brother was staring at him and smirking, that infuriating, smug smirk that always managed to get under Sam's skin and make him resent having a big brother that delighted in tormenting him; and being a total idiot, he had just inadvertently given him enough ammunition for the coming month. Sam only wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. _God, sometimes I hate you, Dean._

Dean was enjoying the awkward moment little brother seemed to be experiencing. _Oh, Sammy!_ However, it didn't take long for his protective instincts to override his glee as concern washed over his face. His voice got low and tender. "Sam, just what exactly does she say in that diary? I mean, she doesn't get into details, does she?"

Sam looked up with a half-hearted grin, trying to be the mature young man instead of the geeky nerd who was getting turned on by the words written over eighty years before. "Yeah, she kinda does."

"Oh, _really?"_ Dean couldn't control his spontaneous smirk and chuckled under his breath. He spent a few moments staring at his brother and reveling in his discomfort before he abruptly handed his book across the aisle. "Here, switch… mine's all about her grief and guilt after the ship sinks. It's depressing… I could use some dirty sex talk."

Sam was embarrassed and he kind of wanted to keep reading, just not with his brother sitting across from him _knowing _what he was reading. That was just awkward and _dangerous._ Dean could be relentless with the teasing and he wasn't in the mood for it now. He reluctantly passed the diary over to his brother, but he kept a watchful eye on Dean as he started reading the racy journal noting his brother didn't appear shocked at all by what he read. If anything the little grin and glimmer in his eyes indicated he was totally enjoying the action depicted on the page. _Big wonder, probably picking up pointers._

After another thirty minutes of reading Dean let out a whoop and lowered the diary to rest on his lap. "Man, I hope this runs in the family. For being back in those prim and proper days, Grams sure was a wildcat." He threw the book down on the bed and got up to grab another beer out of the mini-fridge. "Sammy… _Sam_, you wanna pop?"

Sam smiled as he looked up, "Yeah, thanks."

Dean tossed him the can and sat back down. "So, what's the verdict? How we gonna waste him?"

---

A plan was made and the brothers drifted off to sleep each having dreams about women. Dean's involved Shelly and the promise of her carrying on the family wild streak when they finally connected, and Sam had vague dreams of a young woman who rebelled against her family and followed her own dreams and desires. She had everything against her back then, society, her family. The expectations and restrictions of what a proper young woman was supposed to do trying to rein her in, and yet she did what she wanted. Sam respected that. He only hoped when the time came, he'd have the same strength to follow his dreams.

Dean again felt antsy as morning found them firming up their plans; but he concentrated on looking relaxed, knowing his brother would be watching him with the scrutiny of a Hollywood tabloid reporter just waiting for that revealing slipup. Internally his stomach was doing flip-flops, and the three cups of coffee that sloshed around in the otherwise empty space didn't do anything to ease the tension. It helped to know _why _he was so on edge, but it didn't relieve the strain and the knowledge he still had to face the damn thing. It further didn't help that their brilliant plan involved dangling him as bait. Since it seemed the damn thing liked him, or at least liked possessing him, it was the obvious mode of attack; let the spirit possess him and have Sam take it out. At least that way they'd know where the fugly thing was.

It was a simple plan; that is, unless _you_ were the one letting the creepy bastard roam around your insides, slipping through your mind and exposing all your inner terrors to a stranger… a _ghostly_ stranger at that. All the hurts he'd buried from himself and the world would be fodder in this ghost's hands, and that was almost as terrifying as having it inside his body to start with. Dean had already sacrificed immeasurably on this job, and it appeared the sacrifice wasn't yet over.

"Dean, are you sure this exorcism will work on this ghost?" Sam was reading over the words in Dad's journal, practicing and trying to memorize as much as he could. "I mean, it's not a demon, it's a ghost. You sure?"

"Sammy… _Sam,_ it's a freakin' pink slip for the bitch. It's designed to send ghosts back to the afterlife. Dad and I used it last year in Frisco. Worked like a charm," Dean confidently responded, rising to refill his coffee cup. "So, you wanna catch some breakfast?"

The tension in the room was stifling and Sam wanted nothing more than to be done with this job. _Now I know how Dean's felt. _He closely studied his brother, Dean appearing cool and calm, like none of this was freaking him out. "Dean, this doesn't freak you out?" he whispered, anxiously gauging his brother's response and the look within his eyes.

Dean smirked, his eyes clear and confident, "Nah. It doesn't freak me out."

_I wish I could believe you, Dean. I mean, just looking at you… yeah, anyone would believe you, but I __know__ you. I know how you were feeling before. I've been watching you since I was four years old and this has got to be scaring the crap out of you, doesn't it? _

Sam slipped on his long sleeve shirt and headed for the door just a step before his brother. The keys were dangling in Dean's hand and he seemed raring to go. "So, Dean, where to?"

"How about we have a real sit down breakfast? I'm _starving_."

---

Shelly met them at the theater shortly before the noon showing. Unaware of the real purpose behind the brothers' attendance, she was there to simply retrieve her gram's diaries and again watch the movie. She and Dean continued their flirtation and it seemed to ease Dean's mind, once more offering up a distraction before the dreaded opening credits of the movie. Dean hung out in the lobby with Shelly until the last possible moment when he had to walk back into that dark theater to face his fears, cursing under his breath at the bad luck that landed him on this hunt and put him in the cross-hairs of this spirit.

It helped to have Sam by his side, even though it pained him to think he was dependant on his kid brother. He secretly wished his dad was here. He'd accept help from Dad, if necessary, but his brother? That one hurt. Being the older brother, he was supposed to be the protector, not the other way around. Dean was used to hurt though, so he mustered all his courage and walked into the theater ready to face this ghostly freak and put him down.

"Dean, you ready?" Sam asked, concern etched on his face, still watching his brother for signs he'd reached that breaking point. Sam really didn't think Dean would _ever _break, but the last few days had left a lingering doubt that refused to yield. _I'll be glad when we put this sucker down and get back to normal... Yeah, right! Like the Winchesters have ever been normal? I guess I'll have to settle for Dean back to his old cocky self. And that would be good enough… real good! _

Dean turned back with that familiar cocky smirk plastered on his face, his voice steady and sure, "Sammy, I was born ready." Then he winked.

So Sam relaxed. Dean always had that effect on him. It was how things worked between them, if Dean was standing beside him grinning and telling him everything would be all right then Sam believed him. Sam always believed his big brother because Dean would never lie to him. Oh, he'd tease him unmercifully and torment him 'til he wanted to explode with frustration, but he'd never lie. When times were tough, as they so often were, Sam trusted Dean to see them through. Now it was Sam's turn.

"So, Dean, you think this Jackson is hanging around Shelly because he knows she's Rosanna's granddaughter?"

Dean's grin dropped away, replaced by a wide-eyed look of total shock. "Rosanna? What the hell, Sammy! That's gram's name?"

Sam nodded before realization struck. _Shit! Shit! How stupid! Stupid! Stupid! _Sam sheepishly gazed at the confounded look on his brother's face. "Yeah, Dean. You didn't know that?"

Dean huffed out an inaudible reply. Silence enveloped them until Dean finally uttered, "Hell, _no_. I mean, what the hell?"

Sam was mentally kicking himself, down the stairs and around the block. _How could you not realize that? Jackson and Rosanna? God! _"So… you think there's a connection? I mean between the movie and our Jack and Rose?"

"A connection? Nah, couldn't be. I'm sure it's just a big old freakin' coincidence, but then I also think ol' Bill didn't inhale, the good guys always win, and the White Sox are gonna take the series. Watcha think, Sammy?" Dean's voice was low and throaty, ragged from the strain and this unexpected revelation, and the worry of what else might throw a monkey-wrench in their master plan. "Hell, _yeah!_ Come on! Probably if we dug a little deeper the writer or Cameron or someone involved with this stupid movie knows the story of Shelly's grandmother."

"Yeah." Sam stomped his foot into the carpet, furious he could be so stupid, and the possible ramifications this might have on Dean and their chance for success. "Look, Dean… I'm sorry I didn't put it together before. I should've… "

Protective big brother syndrome was in full force as Dean dismissed the oversight and possible negative impact on their plan. "Sammy, don't sweat it. It's too late now, and what difference? Let's just get this done." Dean led them to the right side near where Shelly was sitting and found seats half-way back from the screen two rows behind her. As he sat down in his seat he whispered more reassuring words to his brother, "It don't matter, Sammy. We know who the ghost is. We know he likes to play around inside this fine body of mine, and we know how to smoke 'em. It's all good. So, you ready to rock and roll?"

Sam smiled and relaxed again. Dean exuded such confidence, _what could possibly go wrong?_

TBC


	10. Love Story

Chapter Ten – Love Story

Dean tensed, his shoulders pressed low into the back of his seat while his fingers gripped the armrest, as he waited for the spirit to slink back into his body and assault him. He'd felt dirty and out of control each time the damn thing left him, and he only now understood why. It didn't help much. The main thing Dean had going for him in this twisted life was control. He was a master at controlling the situation whether it was in the hunt or protecting his family. Knowing what he knew about the dark forces at play, he knew it was all an illusion, but it was all he had, his confidence and commitment to doing the job at least giving him a focus, giving his life meaning.

He held firm to the idea that he was a hunter capable of conquering any evil, and that he would protect his family at all cost. Now the tables were turned, a spirit was gaining control over his body and he was dependant on Sammy to save him. He hated the idea of _anyone_ having to protect him, but most especially his kid brother. That just wasn't the way the game was supposed to play out. This friggin' freak had changed the rules and Dean didn't like it. Not one bit.

Sam had Dad's journal resting on his lap, the page with the exorcism tagged, ready to open up to vanquish this spirit. He kept shooting looks at his brother, trying to determine his state of mind, but Dean was a master at hiding his thoughts, his bold façade locked down firmly in place.

They were two hours into the movie and there was still no sign of a supernatural presence. The recent pattern they'd been able to piece together indicated the spirit was waiting for the final panic to overtake the passengers as the last of the lifeboats were cast off. Both brothers tensed, teetering on that edge, dreading the coming showdown, but anxious for it to finally be over.

Dean pulled out his mini-flashlight and tapped his brother on the arm offering it up to him. "Here. Just in case you forget the words and need to check 'em."

Sam took the flashlight, but reassured his brother. "I've got it covered. Don't worry, Dean."

"Worry? You kidding me?" Even in the darkened theater, Sam could hear the smirk on his face from the tone of his voice, Dean's familiar bravado again comforting. "I know you got it, dude. I'm not worried."

_I hope so. Please, don't let me screw this up. _Sam nervously rolled the flashlight back and forth on his thigh, trying to divert his attention from the importance of his job. This was the first time he was the critical piece of the puzzle. The first time success was laid squarely on his shoulders, his brother's fate resting in his hands. It was a heavy burden for a kid of fourteen.

Screams from the frantic passengers filled the theater as the massive ship broke in two and they scrambled to the stern as it rose up into the air, Rose and Jack managing to position themselves at the railing at the upper-most point. Dean's breathing quickened and his hands gripped the arms of the seat in anticipation. Dread filled his heart, but he was a hunter and although he was basically the chum in their little fishing expedition, he wouldn't hesitate to do his part. The job always came first.

The safety lights on the side wall of the theater started flickering as a frigid breeze settled around them, embracing them and making the action on the screen feel even more real, the movie now playing in sense-surround. Dean shuddered as he felt a cold essence filling him and then his mind was blanketed, trapped within the spirit of this ghost again possessing his body, ready to act out the anguish of the moment.

Sam silently watched as his brother rose from his seat and walked two rows up to stand beside the row of seats where Shelly sat. This time the movie continued playing and since he was standing in the aisle to the side, not blocking any views, no one seemed to pay any attention to him. That is, no one except Shelly. She turned and gazed at him before rising and silently moving to the aisle to join him standing mere inches from his side. Shelly's eyes looked distant and that's when Sam knew.

_Damn, it all makes sense now!_

Sam placed his dad's journal on the seat and walked down to where his brother and Shelly stood. He calmly spoke to the spirit inhabiting his brother. "Jackson, Rosanna always loved you."

Dean turned to him with tears welling in his eyes. Anger and hurt spewed from his mouth, "She left me alone to _die_."

Sam found it unsettling to be staring into the face of his brother, deep emotion playing out across his features, while the words spoken were in a tone and cadence that was definitely not Dean. He shuddered under the realization Dean was lost to him now, there, but _not there. _He truly was alone in this fight. _God, I already miss you, Dean. Hold on, bro. _

Sam attempted reason, calmly talking to this spirit, even as his insides trembled. "_No._ She wanted to come with you, but her family stopped her. You have to understand… "

"NO. I have to win back her love. Show her I was great. She never knew. Never saw me on the stage."

Sam was subtly shaking; uncertainty now gripping him tight and he found himself struggling to breathe. He'd decided in a moment of clarity… _insanity?_.. to throw their plan out the window and go with his gut feeling. Jackson didn't want to hurt anyone. All the previous incidents had been minor, indicating a spirit at unrest, but certainly not violent. At least he hadn't been violent _yet_. Sam was gambling with his brother now, and he hoped he was right about this. The pressure of being responsible for him was overwhelming and he wondered how Dean managed it all this time. He'd always depended on big brother, looked to him for support, and Dean had never failed him. Now it was his turn to save Dean.

Sam reached down to the floor where Shelly had the bag containing the diaries and pulled out the second one. He opened it up, quickly thumbing through the pages until he came to the passage and started reading, thankful for the illumination from Dean's flashlight.

_I will never forget you, Jackson. You are the love of my life. I never realized the depth of our love until you were lost to me. I let them separate us in life, but I will always hold you close in my heart._

_Never again will I let anyone tell me what to do. You have freed me from the confines. You showed me how I want to live my life. My love for you will never die; it will go on and on. _

Sam had the complete attention of both Dean and Shelly. Dean's expression was one of surprise, followed by comprehension and inner peace, Jackson finally realizing he had not been abandoned as eighty-five years of a solitary prison had convinced him. Shelly only had love in her eyes, love and longing for that which had been denied her all these years.

Sam continued reading, hoping the words of the past could let them both rest in peace and move on, his voice slightly cracking at the emotional moment.

_I know we'll be together again in the next life. I have to believe that. Wait for me, darling. I will come once my journey here is through._

Sam closed the journal and watched as a single tear rolled down his brother's face illuminated by the safety light mounted on the wall beside him. He gasped from the sight of Dean crying. He had never before seen Dean shed a tear. Not once. Even though he knew it wasn't his brother's tear, it tore into his heart to think of the anguish that moved this spirit to tears and he wondered if his brother could somehow feel it too.

The movie sputtered and stopped and the audience fell silent waiting. It was as if a spell had been cast over the entire theater as the silence encircled them and it felt like time itself stilled, patiently waiting for the world to resume spinning.

Dean and Shelly linked their hands together, her fingers entwined within his strong grip, and slowly walked to the front of the theater, the light from the projector their spotlight as they prepared to act out the final moments of Jack and Rose.

The emotions they invoked as they called forth the passion of love too long denied were staggering. A wave of love and loss swept out across the theater drawing each member of the audience deep into the reservoir of their longing, the promise of a blissful life together that was extinguished long ago by a ripple in time starting with Titanic's tragic sinking and spanning eighty-five years of separation. With one chance to recapture his glory and prove his love, Jackson gave the performance of a lifetime. His lady, Rose, there by his side to witness his devotion as they assumed the roles of the movie lovers.

Shelly knelt down beside Dean who was already posed on the floor, the still ocean cold beneath them, threatening to swallow them up as Rose balanced on the floating wooden frame. "I love you, Jack," she whispered, her eyes filled with total devotion.

Love and hope and desperation filled Dean's low voice as he pleaded with his lover, "Don't you do that, don't you say your good-byes."

Shelly was shaking and her voice was subtly breaking from the frigid conditions of the Atlantic. "I'm so cold."

"Listen, Rose. You're gonna get out of here, you're gonna go on and make lots of babies, and you're gonna watch them grow. You're gonna die an old... " Dean stuttered, the cold stealing his ability to speak before sheer determination forced the words from his mouth, "you're gonna die an old lady warm in her bed, but not here, not this night. Not like this, do you understand me?" Dean was holding tight to Shelly's arm, tenacious in his tone, refusing to surrender to the elements, not allowing his lover to give up. _Willing her to live, to live for both of them._

"I can't feel my body," Shelly gasped.

Jackson was in full-on performance mode earnestly acting his heart out, finally able to reach out to his Rosanna. "Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me… it brought me to you. And I'm thankful for that, Rose. I'm thankful. You must do me this honor, Rose. Promise me you'll survive. That you won't give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise."

Shelly reached over and touched Dean's face, tenderly caressing his strong jaw. The love Rosanna felt for Jackson flowing through her fingertips to touch the essence of his spirit. "I promise."

"Never let go."

"I'll never let go. I'll never let go, Jack."

The stage actor and the movie actress acted out the final moments of the screen lovers, capturing the poignant time they themselves had been denied, the bodies of Dean and Shelly at last giving them the means to reconnect. Jackson was the first to deviate from the script. All the hurts and love left simmering for eighty-five years finally released, flaring out in a white-hot flash of emotion threatening to incinerate the lovers.

"Rosie, I've loved you all these years. I've longed for you."

"I'm here, Jackson. I'm finally here." Shelly was softly stroking Dean's face, tears flowing from her eyes as she placed her cheek against his and sighed from the contact, passion and bliss taking Rosanna back to her youth.

Dean wrapped his arms around Shelly's waist, his embrace promising to never again let her go. He pulled back from her tender touch and gazed into her eyes and slowly connected his lips with hers, Jackson's desire bursting forth as the years fell away and they were young again. Young and desperately alive and facing a glorious future, a life of their own choosing.

The display before the screen was mesmerizing and the audience was devouring it. It looked like maybe the embrace might become more as their passionate love ignited, the embers flaring up again into a raging lust, burning bright as eighty-five years melted in the flames of their fervor. From the exploits noted in her diary, anything was possible at this point, including an X-rated public display of affection.

Sam was contemplating how to break their hold on each other before things got out of control when the audience started wildly applauding and thankfully startled them out of their rapture. Dean and Shelly rose from the floor, their hands bound together as if they would never let the other go, their faces beaming as they took their final bows, basking in the limelight. Dean gave Shelly one last sensual kiss and with a quick wave to their adoring fans quickly pulled her along as they exited the theater.

Sam grabbed Dad's journal from his seat and ran after them catching them in the lobby. Now his only concern was getting the spirit lovers to vacate their host bodies and move on to the afterlife.

TBC


	11. The Exorcist

Chapter Eleven – The Exorcist

"Uh… Jackson… Rosanna? Do you think I could have my brother back now? And Shelly?" Sam warily inquired, trying to keep his voice steady and calm. He held tight to his dad's journal, his finger inserted where the exorcism was bookmarked, but he was hoping he wouldn't have to use it. He hoped they would be reasonable. Since they were now _both _dead he hoped they would simply decide to move on to wherever it is spirits go.

Dean turned to his brother and smiled, his eyes shimmering with a luminous glow. "This is an exquisite body, so young and strong… so virile." Jackson ran his hands across Dean's chest and down to his abs, feeling the firm muscles beneath the t-shirt, caressing the taut, trembling flesh under his splayed fingers. "Maybe I should keep it?" He used Dean's lips to draw up into a lascivious smirk. "Perhaps reclaim my lover. It has been so _very_ long."

Sam took a deep breath and opened up the journal. _Like hell you'll keep my brother's body. Not happening, freak._ He started to read, but Shelly raised her hand to silence him, her eyes pleading for mercy. He momentarily paused and waited to see what she had in mind, ready to begin again at the first hint of trouble.

"Jackson, we need to leave these young people alone. They have their own lives to live." She reached up and caressed Shelly's face, tenderly running her fingers across the soft skin of her beloved granddaughter. "I won't deny my granddaughter her own life. Jackson, it's time to move on."

"But you _had_ a life." Anger spewed from Dean's lips, his face twisted from an intense, lingering agony, contorting his handsome features until he was almost unrecognizable, his green eyes nearly black from a fierce, unfocused hatred; outrage at his destiny and the cruelty of fate unbridled and driving him to the brink of madness. Years of solitary torment had left Jackson lost in a haze of conflict and confusion, consuming him and driving his spirit beyond the edge of reason. "I _died _before I had a chance to live. Everything I missed… _we missed_. We could have it all, Rosie. Please, this is our chance. Don't you want to live again?"

Shelly placed the palm of her hand gently against Dean's cheek, softly stroking down until her fingertips rested against his full lips, her eyes closed as if Rosanna was remembering the past, their love and their stolen future. She opened her blue eyes, tender and loving, and smiled at him. "Jackson, I've lived a full life. It's over. I'm ready to move on. My darling, I love you. If you love me, you'll come with me. We'll have a glorious time in the next life. That's where we belong now. Please, Jackson. Let these children be. For me."

Sam cradled the book in his hands, open and ready. He watched Dean for a sign, hoping his brother was in there somewhere and could help push Jackson out. 

All hope of a peaceful resolution vanished as the book suddenly flew from his hands and landed twenty feet away as he was pressed up against the wall immobile. He gasped and cursed his foolishness. _I should have stuck to the plan. I'm an idiot. Please, God, don't let him take Dean!_

"Jackson, no! _Please!_" Shelly cried out.

Rosanna was pleading with her lover to not do this, grasping at his arm and trying to draw his attention to her, but he pushed her aside, concentrating all of his powers on holding Sam against the wall. "Silence, Rosie. We deserve this… _I deserve this._ You can't expect me to just give you up… I won't."

"But you _have_ me, my darling," Rosanna implored before her feminist core exerted itself, her eyes determined. "I won't stay here. I won't."

"If you love me, you'll stay. We have _life_ within our grasp. Please, Rosie… _stay._ Stay and love me," Jackson begged, his tone wistful, wanting, _desperate._

Sam was frantically searching his memories for something that could save them. All of Dad's lessons suddenly gaining in importance, at last finding relevance. The foremost mandate was to always keep your cool. _Yeah, right, easier said than done._ Jackson was unbelievably strong. His determination and lust for Dean's body made him a formidable opponent as his very existence demanded he maintain control. With eighty-five years of hatred and longing fueling his desires, Sam doubted the exorcism alone could vanquish him now. He knew as soon as he tried to utter the first words Jackson would stop him and Dean would be lost. 

Sam was shaking, more scared than he could ever remember being, wishing his dad was here to fix things, to make everything alright again. His mind was whirling with a thousand thoughts as he fought to grab hold of an answer. His panic at possibly losing his brother causing every emotion to rise up and assault him; his terrors threatening to undo him. He had one purpose on his mind, only one thought… _Dean. __Saving Dean._

Dean was the rock he depended on, always handling anything that came his way, be it on the hunt or in life. Sam had always looked up to his big brother for guidance, for inspiration; admiring him and trying to be just like him. If ever there was a time, now was it. _Focus… calm yourself down… you can do this… don't fail him now… Dean would never give up on you… think, Sam, think… you can do this… _A clarity came over him, pulled from the depths of his being, as if Dean was speaking to him, calming him down and standing resolute beside him instead of being the face of the enemy glaring back at him from across the room. Quietly, Sam asked, all emotion contained as he assumed his role, "Jackson, so how long do you plan on keeping my brother's body?"

"Time? You ask about time?" Dean chuckled, _as if Dean, himself, would be finding any of this humorous. He's probably screaming now, ready to kick my butt for not following the plan. _"I've waited eighty-five years.., _a lifetime_." He curved up his lips into a satisfied grin. "This fine body? I think I'll be keeping it for a very long time, I have a lot to experience, a lifetime to live."

"And Dean doesn't get to live his life?"

Dean's face again contorted obscuring his features and making him seem unreal, a caricature of the old Dean. The _real_ Dean was truly hidden now, trapped deep behind this mask that looked like Dean but wasn't; the fire that had always burned in his gut for the hunt extinguished, while the heart and soul that filled his eyes so often with delight as he teased and tormented, and then vigilantly protected his kid brother vanished before Sam's eyes. This new, generic Dean paused considering Sam's plea before shrugging, no pity within those expressive green eyes, no compassion left, only defiance. "I deserve this… " Dean took on a pensive look, his eyes reflective as if Jackson was inwardly searching, digging through Dean's mind and unearthing his hidden secrets. He calmly responded, "Your brother is filled with pain. It consumes him."

The comment startled Sam and his mind tried to deny the hurt he saw glimmering in Dean's eyes, a hurt he had thought came from Jackson, but now he wondered. His heart pounded in his chest as he softly asked, "What? What pain?"

"So much pain, buried deep, but there… It taints his soul. This is a mercy, releasing him from the struggle."

"Bullshit!" Sam screamed, his own defiance not willing to surrender his brother to this evil. "You're just trying to justify yourself. You get out of my brother, you sonofabitch!"

Jackson quietly, but firmly spoke, "No." His eyes again traveled over the expanse of Dean's body, but his smirk held none of the playfulness that Dean's real smile evoked, instead appearing sinister and depraved. "Your brother doesn't deserve this fine body."

Sam sucked down his terror and tried to think. Trying his best to emulate Dean's cavalier attitude he attempted a new approach. "So, now that you have such a fine body, what are your plans? I mean, it _has_ been eighty-five years, what's tops on the to-do list?" He sweetly smiled, hoping Jackson would fall for the dumb-kid act.

Dean continued with that wicked, wrong smirk as his eyebrows arched. "What do you think, little man?" He released a sly laugh as he glanced at Shelly, his tongue gliding over his lips to wet them as the smirk deepened. 

Sam wanted to wipe that smirk off Dean's face… off that bastard Jackson's poor imitation of Dean's face, but he felt himself instinctively offering one of his disapproving looks of disgust, finding the interplay all too familiar. _Too bad you're a freakin' spirit stealing my brother's body because obviously you two have the same priorities. Maybe that's why this bastard picked Dean in the first place. Damn, eight-five years without any nookie… and Dean thought he'd had a dry spell?_ Sam sucked down his rage and terror and continued to play his role as he again reverted to the dumb-kid persona. He smiled and nodded, "Yeah, of course, looking for a little afternoon delight?"

"I bet your brother is more than adequately endowed. I'm sure you can understand, the spirit's been willing, but until now…," Dean's eyebrows quirked up in that comical manner that was so close to the real Dean, yet not; and he grinned, his dimples deepening as his eyes glanced downward in amusement, "I was missing the fundamental equipment."

"Yeah, that must have hurt… having an itch, and no way to scratch it," Sam snarkily responded, feeling Dean's chutzpah fortifying him. Before panic managed to totally overtake him, Sam tried one more desperate approach as he casually inquired, "You drink, Jackson?"

Dean's face registered surprise, but his eyes twinkled with a curiosity. "Drink?" He paused and considered the boy before him, the boy's simple smile hardly presenting any cause for worry, instead bringing out a mirthful response, "Why do you ask?"

Sam continued smiling, not much else on his body able to move. "Well, after eighty-five years I figured you could use a drink. Dean always carries a flask of whiskey in his inside coat pocket, the uh… _right _side. You know, just to take the edge off."

Dean grinned as he reached into the pocket retrieving the metal flask and quickly unscrewing the top. With a bold and defiant nod he raised up the flask in a mock toast. "To this fine body and a new life." He winked at Sam before he guzzled the liquid.

Steam rolled out of Dean's mouth as the actor within presented the perfect spit-take before crumbling to the ground writhing in agony, one arm wrapped tight around his middle while the other reached out and gripped at the carpet, desperate to hold on to something while his stomach retched. As he struggled to hold himself up from total collapse onto the floor of the lobby his powers diminished and Sam was freed from the wall. 

As soon as the pressure released, Sam was running for Dad's journal, reciting the words from memory before his hands ever grasped the worn leather. 

Dean gave one panicked look back at his brother, but in his present state Jackson was unable to regain control over the younger Winchester, instead concentrating all of his considerable powers to holding on to the strong body he was possessing. Dean was kneeling on the floor, bent over with his head cradled in his hands while his hips continued to lurch forward in painful spasms as tremors radiated through his spent body, the violent reaction to the liquid and the start of the exorcism enacting a heavy toll on him.

Even under the pressure of their dire situation Sam's brainpower kicked into overdrive as he concentrated and the Latin words flowed. He spoke calmly and clearly, reciting the exorcism from memory, barely looking at the journal, all of his attention fixed on Dean and the effects racking his brother's body. The guttural moans and gasps causing Sam to shiver as his blood ran cold in his veins; his own gut retching from the sight of his brother's thrashing form. Dean started to violently shudder and Sam knew Jackson was now feeling the full effects of the exorcism in addition to the holy water, and he prayed it was enough to make the spirit vacate Dean's body. 

Dean twitched and moaned, waves of sharp, stabbing pain assailing him; Jackson's spirit desperately trying to hold on to his body, digging deep for a handhold on his last chance at life. His fists alternated between grasping at the carpet and pounding down in pain and frustration, clenching and unclenching in vain, unable to do more than thrash about on the floor of the lobby. His eyes looked up again, pleading, desperate, trembling with fear and loathing at what this mere boy had managed to do. A disbelief ever present as Jackson felt the life draining away from him, as he experienced his very essence pounding at the confines of this fine body ready to explode out into that empty, vacant nothingness of the spirit world. 

Sam continued reciting the exorcism, picking up the pace before Jackson discovered the means to stop him. As he got to the last line Dean arched his back and yelled to the rafters, a piercing, primal scream ripped from the depths of his soul, and then he fell back to the ground on his hands and knees panting and wasted, barely able to keep from collapsing in a heap on the floor. Sam felt his heart quicken as he closed the journal praying Jackson was truly gone, hoping he'd set things right and gotten his brother back; looking for a sign that the Winchesters had again dodged that ever-persistent bullet that was constantly taking aim against them.

A bright light shimmered around Dean and then moved away, hovering just behind him as the disembodied spirit was again left orphaned in the world, still trapped in this realm, but without a host body, impotent and alone.

Shelly turned to Sam, tears pooling in her eyes, as Rosanna spoke, "He was a good man, I don't… " Her voice cracked as her heart ached for the man she had loved, a man who somehow lost himself in the distant tunnel of time, a man who under normal circumstances would never have attempted to steal another man's life. Her voice hitched as she softly whispered, "He lost his way. I'm sorry… this wasn't _my_ Jackson. He never would have… " Her voice finally broke from her anguish. She paused to get her emotions back in check, glancing at the shimmer of light behind Dean; her eyes filled with a deep love, a love that had waited almost a century to be reclaimed, a love that was finally released from the lingering pain from years of longing. "Please… please forgive him."

Sam nodded, his sensitive eyes displaying a basic decency that revealed his compassion. Eighty-five years of disembodied haunting could bend any man, making even the strongest mind succumb to the temptations of evil. He cursed himself for being so naïve as to think reason would hold sway with a ghost. He didn't fault the spirit for trying to hold on to life, he blamed himself for risking his brother on a whim when he should have known better. _Dad and Dean will most definitely be kicking my butt over this one… and I deserve it. It was stupid… really stupid. Dean could have… _Sam forced his mind to focus on the _now_… beating himself up over this one wasn't going to help Dean now. There would be plenty of time for that later.

"Tell my granddaughter I love her." Rosanna took one final look around the theater and softly gasped, as if she was breathing in the very essence of life. She turned toward Sam and whispered, "Thank you." A light shown within Shelly, illuminating her angelic face and radiating out around her like a halo before leaving and moving across the floor of the lobby where Rosanna joined her spirit lover beside Dean. 

Sam didn't understand it, but he distinctly heard her voice gently reassuring Jackson, stilling his fears, "Jackson, let's go home." The ethereal glow of the two figures seemed to flare out into a brilliant expanse of white light and then just as quickly extinguish as the lobby returned to normal.

The few people present around them simply scurried away unsure of what just happened, but not wanting to be anywhere near in any case.

Dean's eyes drew wider as he watched the white light expand and then implode into a fine line and disappear. He glanced about the lobby, his breathing labored and heavy, each breath taking every ounce of strength he could muster. He felt like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, ripped open and mauled by those damn flying monkeys, all the stuffing pulled out of him and thrown about in pieces on the forest floor. Now trying to put the pieces back together and hoping he got them back in the right spots, his insides all jumbled together and feeling haphazard, not quite whole, still fractured and broken.

Pulling from somewhere deep inside he staggered to his feet with the help of a firm grip from his brother, bracing one arm around his middle in an attempt to hold himself together as he teetered on shaky legs, the slack-limbed image of that damn scarecrow again filling his thoughts. This possession had lasted a considerable amount of time, much longer than any of the previous times and he was weakened from the experience, like the damn thing sucked all his life energy away. The holy water and exorcism also enacting a heavy toll as Jackson desperately clung to his last chance at life. The lingering effects from the struggle over control of his body left him wasted and weak, barely holding on. He knew some of what had happened, or at the very least had the knowledge to connect the dots, but in this moment his main focus was on breathing and not collapsing to the floor. Everything else could wait.

Shelly, on the other hand, was showing signs of true emotional distress. She was trembling and her eyes were wide-open, terrified as she searched about the theater like she knew _something _unnatural had occurred, but she couldn't process it, the emotions and events too far beyond any rational explanation. At least the presence in her body had been benevolent, not wanting to bring her any harm; unlike Dean's ghost who had latched on with a fierce grip, digging and gouging through his insides, tenaciously refusing to surrender his last chance at life. Her eyes focused on the brothers. "What happened? How'd I get here?"

Even with his own body still trembling, still struggling to regain any semblance of control, all of Dean's attention turned to his brother and the job. "Sammy, it gone? _You_ alright?" His eyes were filled with love and deep regard for little brother, the panic and pain of this possession already being nudged into the back corners of his mind.

Sam shook his head in wonder. Dean looked like he'd just gone ten rounds with the heavyweight champion, beaten down and battered after being repeatedly knocked to the mat, but being a Winchester he was typically too obstinate to simply stay down and admit defeat. And, of course, his first concern when he regained consciousness would never be for himself or his apparent injuries. _Dean could fall off a ten-story building and on his way down he'd be checking on me. Once he splat on the concrete, his first words in the afterlife would be 'How's Sammy?' Christ, Dean! _

Sam did the only thing he could do right now, he calmly answered his brother, "Yeah, Dean, they're both gone."

Dean looked surprised before slight memories filtered through his mind and then the truth hit him hard. It was like a heavy curtain was ripped off and the blinding sun was blazing through the window into his soul, revealing the reality of the last few moments and illuminating that truth. _"Both?_" he rasped out, his face contorting from remnants of pain that ran like electrical currents through his body in aftershocks, tiny jolts of memory lacing through his thoughts and insuring he didn't forget this experience anytime soon.

Sam looked at Shelly, knowing she wouldn't understand any of this, but he figured there was no skirting the issue. Dean would just have to explain it later as best he could. "Jackson _and _Rosanna."

"ROSANNA?" Dean was slightly bent over with his hands gripping his thighs as he tried to steady himself and catch his breath. His eyes were hooded and had lost their spark, his mouth twisting into a grimace as he barely stayed focused on his kid brother beside him, watching him like a hawk. _God, Sammy, what's your deal? Chill out, dude! _

Sam moved towards him, wanting to reach out and help steady him, but resisting the urge, knowing Dean would never want anyone to think he was weak or in need. Still, he positioned himself within arm's reach, standing firm beside his big brother, just in case. "Yeah, Dean, that's why the chair where Shelly was sitting had such a high reading. It wasn't Jackson being near her, it was her grandmother."

Dean slowly stood upright, scrubbing his hand across his face, his eyes constant on his brother as the knowledge sunk into his muddled brain. _It all makes sense now. Damn, why didn't we see?_

Part of Dean wanted to ask specifics, to know all the painful details, but right now he was simply too wasted to hear the answers. His main thought was relief that it was over. _Finally over…_ He noticed the first signs of panic on his brother's face and he knew Sam was worried. About what he couldn't tell for sure, the kid always was a worrier. Right now he honestly didn't care. The hows and whys weren't as important as the end result. The job was over, the spirit was gone, and they could finally get on with their lives. End of story… _for now._

TBC

_Reviews… please? Yeah, I'd really like to know what you think. Thanks for reading anyway, B.J._


	12. Make My Day, Not!

Chapter Twelve – Make My Day, _Not!_

Sam sat waiting on the bench by the front doors as Dean tried to explain to Shelly as best he could the circumstances of the night. Sam didn't know what Dean would tell her, and quite frankly, he didn't care; Dean always had a knack for making up a story that people believed. Whether it was his masterful ability to weave a yarn or simply their reluctance to consider the truth, they always bought into whatever he was selling. His verbal mastery combined with his killer grin seemed to be batting a thousand as Shelly leaned in and offered him a tender kiss before turning with a satisfied smile and leaving the theater.

Dean slowly walked over to where his brother sat waiting, his cocky grin disappearing as soon as Shelly turned to leave, replaced by lips set in a firm and determined grimace. His eyes cold and piercing as they registered every shift Sam offered under the intense scrutiny as Dean neared. When he was at last towering over his brother he calmly asked, his voice chilled by a total absence of emotion, "So, Sammy… what's the story?"

Sam looked up in shame, his eyes barely able to focus on his brother as he was shut out by the frigid distance between them. Softly he mumbled, "Dean, I'm sorry."

"For what?" Dean whispered, concern and confusion behind his soft, green eyes, the slightest indent between them as he furrowed his brows and studied his brother.

Sam looked straight into those eyes, deciding he needed to face the music, weather Dean's wrath, and just get it the hell over with. _I screwed up, I deserve it. _His voice trembled as he barely was able to form the words, his terror at almost losing his brother still nagging at his heart. "Dean, I didn't follow the plan… I thought I could reason with Jackson, convince him that Rosanna loved him and to just move on." As soon as the words were out Sam lowered his gaze and contemplated the worn carpeting of the theater, his eyes fixed on a recent stain, probably a coke spilled and left to soak in unattended. His mind frantically seeking out any excuse to avoid the look he was sure his brother would unleash on him, his heart bracing for the fury of Dean.

"Right." Dean stood transfixed, his brother's words slowly penetrating his hazy mind, filling in the gaps in his memories, giving him a more complete picture to connect to his mucked-up emotions. All the images melding together, the embarrassing acting scene in front of a theater full of gawking spectators, the real-life love story reunion followed by the nasty confrontation and tug-of-war over his body that played out in the lobby; and during the entire time the evil presence inside him was whispering of plans to keep his body and use it, taunting him that he wasn't worthy of such a fine body, that he was too damaged to function in this world and should simply release from it and surrender. The tempting words promising life would be easier if he just slunk away into that dark corner of his mind and never returned.

_Time…_ the spirit had been given time enough to mess with his head, and for an instant, just a mere fraction of a second, he'd considered it, wondered what it would be like to completely let go.

That realization scared the shit out of him because he wasn't a quitter, and to think it sounded appealing, even for a millisecond, gave him more cause to wonder if he was strong enough for this job, if he could ultimately protect his family when it mattered most.

Sam froze, confused, and more worried than ever. He glanced up at his brother and was shocked to see him just standing there… _thinking. _His first coherent thought was how odd that was, more often than not used to knee-jerk retaliation from Dean, and then he mentally slapped himself for again being a little bitch. _Dammit, Sam, you almost lost your brother and here you are being the bitch again. Dean does think…, and you know it! He's not stupid, at least not any more stupid than you were tonight._

Dean's fingers were drumming in constant beats against the sides of his jeans before clenching into tight fists as his liquid green eyes dulled by the weight and hurt of this ghostly encounter were suddenly lit on fire, flaring up and causing Sam to steel himself for the coming fury before the switch turned off and almost instantly simmered down to a slow burn as he studied his kid brother. Sam waited, the anticipation killing him as he braced for the coming explosion.

Tense moments seemed to hang heavy in the stagnant air, neither brother saying anything as the silence lingered. "Let's go," Dean finally uttered in a soft, almost tender, but strangely detached voice as he stepped away and headed toward the door.

Sam's gut clenched tight as he silently rose and followed his brother out the door and to the waiting Impala.

_Damn, this is not good. Dean's like a volcano. He'll simmer for hours…, days even.., lulling you into a false sense of security before he blows… that is, __if__ he blows. It's like he's used to pushing everything down and burying it under a ton of earth. Sometimes it never does fight its way back to the surface and I've always wondered how he does it? How he stands it? I mean, it's got to affect him, doesn't it? He seems so good at containing it, never letting it get to him. I've only seen Dean blow off steam a few times and always with plenty of cause. And I can tell you, when he does blow… it is devastating and deadly. The thing is, with Dean it's always on his timetable. In due time, and when you least expect it. Unless you're talking about some evil creature or stupid lowlife, then the flare-up is quick and fierce and brutal. Downright apocalyptic. If an evil beasty or rowdy local upsets Dean, there will be hell to pay, and it won't be pretty. _

Sam paused in his rampant thoughts as he observed his brother. Dean was walking with a stiff gait, resembling a cowboy bucked off a bull and then trampled by it, still putting his sore body back together, broken and beaten down, defeated in both body and spirit. The silence was stifling, only disturbed when they reached the Impala and the creak of the heavy doors breached the deadly calm. Dean slid into his seat behind the steering wheel and waited for his brother to get situated in shotgun position. Sam studied his profile, his jaw sharp and firm, just the barest clench, with a slight twitch of his muscles the only indication of the pressure held back.

_Maybe it's just family that gives Dean pause, gives him the will to hold back, to contain the fury he must be feeling. He certainly never shows any anger with Dad, no matter how much he deserves it. I wonder if that's why the others get total annihilation? Damn it, Dean… I deserve it, just let me have it. Please…_

"Dean?"

"Sam, drop it. Quit thinking so much, you're making my head hurt." Dean started the car and let the engine rev for a few moments before pulling out of the parking lot.

The ride back to the motel was painfully tense with the stillness of the night heavy as the words unspoken moaned and whispered in the darkness, lurking just beyond reach, still silently demanding to be heard, waiting for their moment to come undone. Dean stared through the rain soaked windshield, his fingers tightly gripping the steering wheel while his body appeared ready to snap in two, soldier alert with his back pressed firm against the seat. Sam slouched in the passenger seat stealing quick glances at his brother from behind long bangs that shielded the direction of his searching eyes.

As soon as they were in the room and Dean had checked all the windows and double bolted the door, insuring the salt lines remained unbroken, he sloughed off his leather jacket along with his long-sleeved shirt and pulled his t-shirt over his head, throwing them on top of the chair by his duffle as he rifled through the bag dragging out fresh clothes.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam whispered; his voice a double-edged knife slicing through the quiet, disturbing the pretense of peace.

Dean didn't even look at him and that hurt more than any harsh words Sam was waiting to hear, that the kid brother heard echoing within his own troubled mind. _That I deserve to hear. _

"I know," Dean softly answered; his hands busy sorting his clothes.

"Dean, please, can't we talk about this?"

"Not now." Dean gathered his clothing and supplies and headed toward the bathroom. "I need a shower."

Sam's eyes were watering as he dejectedly stood there with his arms wrapped around himself, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Dean, _please_… "

"WHAT?" Dean cast his eyes to his brother in a fleeting glimpse of rage before quickly looking away, down to the ground, implicitly apologizing for the harsh tone. "Sam, I… "

"Dean, just yell at me for godssakes! I deserve it. Please, just get it over with."

Dean looked up with tender eyes, so much pain clinging there awash in moisture, and Sam wanted to die. He wanted to take back the evening and do his job the way he should have done it in the first place. _Why can't I follow orders? Why do I always think I know better? Why? Why can't I be more like Dean… capable, strong, a good soldier? God, that's everything I've never wanted to be… but this time… I almost lost Dean because…_

"No." Dean was breathing heavy, waiting before continuing, before finally looking up, his pale face blank and unreadable, only his dark eyes revealing his anguish. "Sam… the job's done. Jackson's gone. It's all good." He turned back towards the bathroom.

"Then why are you running away from me? Why can't you even LOOK at me?" _Why didn't you call me Sammy?_

Dean stopped and stood silent, his broad shoulders slightly hunched over, his head hung down. Slowly the head raised and the shoulders squared off, strong and fixed, and he finally turned around and sighed, deliberate as he locked eyes with his brother, a steely determination evident alongside the lingering pain. "Sam, I'm _not _running away… I don't run away… _ever_. I just need to wash this… " he hesitated, obviously struggling for the right words, never comfortable examining feelings and emotions and all those other girly thoughts the Winchesters so often left unsaid. His bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, and he pulled it into his mouth and bit into the flesh, gnawing it gently before releasing it, his eyes falling closed for just a second of blessed solitude before they blinked open and he spoke, his heart bleeding through the words. "I feel dirty… alright? I just need to feel clean again."

Sam gasped from the sincerity and raw depth of emotions his brother was allowing him to witness, knowing Dean would never be this open with Dad and he felt strangely privileged, like maybe he trusted him not to judge him. Sam felt more tears forming as his heart reacted to the pain in his brother's eyes, and for the first time in his life he saw Dean as truly vulnerable in a small way and it was all so unexpected. The rush of emotions and realizations was robbing his breath and he shuddered, finally managing to compose himself enough to squeak out, "Alright, Dean… alright."

Dean nodded in relief that Sam would for once back away instead of doggedly pursuing a confrontation like he was most apt to do. His relief was short-lived as he saw the wheels turning in his mind and he knew the direction Sam was headed, somewhere he never wanted his brother to tread, and he suddenly felt exposed, his mask slipping precariously away and revealing too much. Quickly he shifted and adjusted, his habit of protecting his tender heart moving to shield him from further scrutiny. His familiar smirk again commanded his face as he quipped, "Dude, it's not the end of the world. I got Whoopied… " He paused and arched his brows, but his eyes were still dim and he couldn't quite muster the confident look he desired, his expression a mere shadow of the shining face he usually presented when his heart was truly filled with glee. It was a valiant effort, but it collapsed in on him and he fell into a more somber mood. Still he tried to ease his brother's concerns. "It's just creepy…, y' know? A little soap and some tender lovin' from Shelly later on once she settles down, and it's all good. You did good, bro. Job's over, the big-bad's gone, forget about it." Dean flashed a more confident grin, lop-sided with a hint of dimples, and closed the bathroom door behind him.

Sam lay down on the bed placing his arm over his eyes as he tried to forget the entire hunt and the visions of how it could have ended, how Dean might have been forever lost. He tried to bury his thoughts, but they were just as obstinate as everything else concerning the Winchesters. _Fat chance! _Slowly he forced himself to decompress from the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body since he first encountered Jackson in the persona of his brother. _I hope you're alright, Dean. I am sorry… I should have known better. _

Dean closed the door and leaned hard against it. His eyes stared at his image in the mirror over the sink and he hated what he saw. Terror, shame, uncertainty… _Damn it all!_ He'd lost control. He'd been dependant on someone else to save him, and he'd been vulnerable. _Man, that just sucks. Big time! _He pressed back against the firmness of the door, needing the solid block of wood to support him as his heart raced and his chest constricted in a delayed reaction to the abject terror that still haunted him. All of his emotions erupting up to the surface in a frightful explosion that consumed him and he trembled from the force. He grunted and raked his shaking hands over his face, digging at his eyes with the heels of his palms and feeling the moisture of his tears. Red eyes gazed back from his image in the mirror and he closed his eyes to the sight, again tunneling deep to find that rock buried within.

After a few minutes to still the aftershocks that rippled through him and reconnect with who he needed to be, he turned on the water in the shower until it was scorching hot, barely tolerable. He sloughed off his jeans and boxers and stepped in. As hot as the water was, he still shook from the cold that descended on him, the chill of this possession holding firm, twisting his perception of himself and making him doubt his abilities all over again. _How the hell could I not know that thing was inside me? Why couldn't I fight it? What if Sammy hadn't stepped in? What if… ?_

Slowly he started washing his worn body, scrubbing until it was red; the feel of the rough washcloth asserting he still held some control. If he wanted to wear his body down to the bone, he could. He could control at least that much. He could feel his body tingle beneath his firm strokes and he knew he was finally back in control, at least in as much control as he had ever been. Jackson was permanently gone and it was over. His mind knew it, now he only needed to convince his trembling soul. He let the hot water cascade over him, massaging at the aches and pains of his body, and washing away the last remnants of his fears.

As the water lost heat and started to run cold, he released the last of his guilt and shame. His gut slowly unclenched and he again told himself to relax, to stand down. He smiled as he considered how Sam had completed the mission. He hadn't followed orders and that was disturbing; in fact, his first reaction was to pummel the kid before his protective instincts kicked in and overrode his blind fury. The bottom line was he got the job done. As much as he objected to their lives fighting evil, Sam could do the job. He'd proven it. The kid could think on his feet. Dad will be so proud. He'd see to it.

_Dad doesn't have to know the specifics; all he need know is Sammy saved me and vanquished the spirit._ Dean never lied to his dad; he just didn't always tell him everything, especially when it came to Sam. There was already too much tension and bad blood between them, and he grew weary of refereeing their tiffs… their all-out, fractious wars on occasion. _This is good. Dad will be proud… and rightly so. It's over… it's really over. Sam did it. Sammy did good._

Dean took his time wiping dry and adjusting his game face. Whatever anxiety remained was relegated to a dark place deep within where he'd buried all his previous hurts and terrors. The last few days had dredged up tons of uncertainty, but his life was based in the unknown, firmly entrenched in the haphazard, random chaos of evil, and he'd learned long ago to focus on what he could control… _the hunt_. The pain of the last few days had been deepened when he thought he'd lost his edge, when he'd lost his ability to excel in the hunt, at doing _the job_. Maybe this hunt was ultimately completed by his brother, but together they'd finished it. _Together… damn, that sounds good. I can live with that._

Sam was still stewing in his regrets and guilt, anxiously awaiting the emergence of big brother when the bathroom door opened and steam rolled out as Dean confidently strolled into the room wearing a fresh Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a pair of black boxers. He tossed his old jeans and boxers on the stack of clothes by his duffle and smirked at the concerned gaze of his brother.

"Geez, Sammy, no one died… " Dean laughed, " …unless you want to count Jackson and Rosanna." He playfully slapped at the legs of his brother scrunched up on the bed with his arms wrapped around them, and sat down next to him, scooching him over to make room. "And they were, you know, like… _already dead_. Chill out, dude."

With a huff and a quizzical look Sam responded, "But Dean, I screwed up. You coulda… "

"Yeah, but I _didn't._ Sam, you saved me. End of story."

"But… "

Dean ran his hand down his face before punching his brother in the arm in mock disgust. "Sam, let it go." He then paused as a comical expression flickered across his face, eyebrows raised in crinkled arches and lips curled up into a Cheshire cat grin. _Opportunity knocks!_ "Well, Sammy… you're right. You _did_ screw up by not following the plan, so I guess this means you'll never, _ever_ disobey Dad or _my_ orders again. Right?" He wiggled his brows and quirked his mouth into a playful smirk, his eyes finally gleaming with delight.

_He called me Sammy!_

Sam smiled. Dean's easy attitude helping to settle him down just a little, but not enough to make him forget who _he_ was. "That seems a bit extreme, don'tcha think?" he countered, regaining that teenage combative tone he loved to tweak his family with.

"Hey, I thought you were looking for a little penance. What? Now you wanna dictate your punishment?"

Sam smiled deeper and his dimples seemed like pits in his face as the joy that emanated from his brother again found him, the weight on his chest releasing and freeing him to again enjoy the camaraderie and bantering of big brother, thankful he had forgiven him as he always did. "Follow orders? Listen to Dad? I don't know, Dean, pretty harsh punishment, don'tcha think?"

"Yeah?" Dean grinned his cocky, brash smirk. "Well, Sammy, that's the price you pay when you mess with the supernatural." He tousled his brother's hair and leaned back against the headboard. "So what's on the boob tube… and it better be good, with some kick-butt action, and there sure as hell better not be any sinking ships… _or_ _freakin' icebergs… _or stupid last lines from dying fools.

Sam laughed as he handed the remote to his brother. Dean flicked through the channels pausing on Dirty Harry as ol' Clint asked the scumbag to make his day.

"Dirty Harry, _again?_ How many times you gonna watch it? Don't you know it by heart?" Sam protested.

Dean quirked his head to the side and smiled, never one to pass up a good movie even if he had seen it a dozen times… _a good movie, capice? _He hit the channel button on the remote and began surfing for another choice, a _better_ choice. _Sorry, Mom, not tonight… maybe not ever again! _He hit the button one more time and came across Ghostbusters II. _Fantastically unrealistic, but then again, I could use some good escapist fare after what went down tonight. And who doesn't love the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man? _A grin broke out on his face and his eyes danced with pure joy as he nudged his brother, giving him a quick eyebrow waggle.

"Alrighty, Sammy, this is more like it! We got any cocoa?"

TBC


	13. A Soldier's Story

Chapter Thirteen – A Soldier's Story

Morning truly brought a new day as the last tense days were swept away, relegated to the trash heap with the Winchester brothers starting anew like they were so accustomed to doing. Dean was a master at starting fresh, leaving the pain behind and focusing on what new adventures lay in wait. He was left with only two thoughts pressing on his mind: when Shelly and he would finally connect in that biblical sense and fulfill the silent promise of Rosanna's wild legacy, and when Dad would return from his own job so they could head out on a new hunt together. He only hoped he accomplished the first before the second came about.

Sam was observing him, still gauging whether or not all had truly been forgiven and forgotten. The way Dean handled things was a wonder to behold. Last night he had settled in and roared with laughter at the antics of Murray and Aykroyd, and he appeared to be back to his old, reliable, pain-in-the-butt self that Sam was so used to rolling his eyes at, but still Sam intently watched him listening between the lines for subtle clues. Trouble was he couldn't pick up any signs of hidden trauma or residual aftereffects from this possession. Dean was simply back to being Dean. _And that was good, right? _

Dean was on the phone with the owner of the theater and it appeared to be going well. The owner seemed pleased the disturbance was finally gone and was even throwing in some free movie passes in addition to the final payment for the job. Dean assured him it was over and hung up the phone.

"Hey, Sammy, free passes!" Dean winked and madly grinned. "How about we take in a _good _movie now? A little bonus for all our pain and suffering!"

Sam returned the smile, relieved that all seemed to be back to normal… that is, _as normal as it ever gets for us._

The brothers relaxed into their regular routine: Dean teasing Sam unmercifully, Sam loudly complaining about it, and them ending up in either a verbal battle of one-upmanship or else tussling about on the bed or floor, or both, in a wrestling match that Dean with his experience, skills, and well-defined muscles inevitably won. Sam often came out on top in the verbal exchanges, _or so he thought_… His superior brainpower seemingly giving him an unfair advantage, but it was aggravating that even when he thought he'd won, Dean still appeared oddly content with just a whisper of a smirk always present, like he was privy to an inside joke. His eyes glimmering with an unspoken secret, delighting in continuing to torment his kid brother with doubts, even when it was apparent the battle was over. When given the choice of which battle to wage, Dean always seemed to push for the physical confrontations, taking perverse satisfaction in hearing his brother utter the dreaded "uncle".

They spent their time waiting for Dad to return by watching TV, eating vast quantities of junk food, and engaging in their brotherly bonding moments. Dean was still not quite ready to set foot in the theater to use the free movie passes and Sam didn't push it. If that was the only reminder of what had recently transpired than he could live with old movies on the boob tube. When the TV entered the dead zone of soap operas and Oprah, Dean cleaned and oiled his entire collection of guns and knives, and Sam read.

Both were about ready to crawl out of their skins from boredom and a persistent dread when John finally arrived back at the motel later that night. After the perfunctory pleasantries, like what Dad killed on his hunt and whether Dean had received payment in full for their job, they tackled the finer points.

"So, you didn't know?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders, his eyes hooded and solemn before he looked his dad straight in the eyes. "Nope. Not a clue."

John opened up his journal to a blank page and started scribbling notes. "So, you didn't remember what happened when you were… " He cleared his throat as he looked away. His hand gripped the pen tighter as he concentrated on scratching out a doodle on the page. He looked up and studied his son as he continued, "So, you didn't _know_ what you were doing when you were _possessed?"_

"Kinda, but not really. It's hard to explain… " It was obvious Dean was still struggling to figure out what exactly _had _happened, and how to justify it to his dad; feeling like he'd let him down, by being a victim or something. "I'd wake up with this dreamlike feeling, like I knew what I'd just done, but I didn't understand _why._ It didn't feel real… " His voice trailed off, soft and low, "I just didn't understand."

"You know, Dean, if you'da opened up a little about how you were feeling when this thing possessed you instead of just whining about the movie then maybe we could've figured this bitch out."

The words came out too harsh and unsympathetic, not at all like John intended, but they were already out there and he couldn't take them back, wouldn't know _how_ to take them back.

Dean averted his eyes, not wanting to face his dad and the bitter truth in the unkind words, never wanting to expose how he felt… not down deep… that was too personal, too revealing.., _too_ _weak_… not Dean Winchester's way at all… _Sure not how I was raised_.

"Dad, I know… _believe me_, I know… I just… "

John looked up cautiously watching his son, his intense eyes almost burrowing down into the core of his being. "Dean, what?" Silence met him, and frustrated he raised his voice, "Dean, _what?"_

The answer was small and disturbing. "I didn't want to disappoint you."

John rubbed at the stubble on his chin and he felt his anger rising. His sons were sitting there staring at him.., _waiting..,_ anticipating the reaction they both feared was coming. Sam looked defiant, like any moment he would jump up out of his seat to defend his brother.., a fierce warrior ready to protect his comrade against all peril, taking on his dad in another nasty Winchester brawl. Dean simply looked lost, standing his ground, but steeling himself for the coming reprimand. Somehow accepting that he deserved whatever punishment his dad deemed appropriate.

His eyes gazed upon his dad with such sadness and pain, and it reminded John of that night… that terrible, terrible night, when Dean had displayed both of his sons' responses… fiercely protective of his baby brother, pulling him from the fire and holding on so tightly, while simultaneously devastated by the terror of seeing his mom die and the fears of a four-year-old child, uncertain and scared; a shattered child morphing into his little man in the course of a few months, taking on the responsibility of his family, so much older and bolder than his years warranted.

And now it was Sam who suddenly looked so much older, on the verge of becoming a man; a man who was ready to protect his big brother, sitting close by his side in solidarity, willing to take on all comers.

John hated what this life had done to his children.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. "Sammy, run down to the corner and get us some snacks… It's gonna be a long night."

Sam hesitated, his jaw set and he almost spoke up to argue before Dean broke in, "Cheetos and some more beef jerky, 'kay?" He offered a glimmer of a smirk and his eyes pleaded with Sam to just leave. "And you're almost out of pop. Guess, beer's a pipe dream with that baby face." He offered a faint smile with a brief flash of his dimples before he fell silent. Sam stared back at him and the brothers exchanged silent communication, no further words needed to understand the situation… _I don't want you here when Dad rips me a new one._ "You better hurry, bro. I think the market closes at ten."

"Dean? You sure?"

"Yeah, Sammy, go. Oh, and how about some peanut M & M's? I see you found my stash." His eyes maintained contact for just a moment before blinking and looking down again. "And some tic tacs, the white ones."

John's heart swelled as he watched his sons… _brothers_, always protecting each other. _At least I did that right… somehow._

"Sammy, take your time… We'll be here," John added. He watched as his youngest walked out the door with one last, quick look of support towards his brother. Dean smiled in response and then straightened up, his shoulders solid and set, his hands firmly placed flat on top of his thighs as he returned all focus to his dad, staring straight into his eyes, ready for whatever harsh words his father felt were warranted.

John's gut twisted at the sight.

Dean took in a deep breath and continued with his story, calmly relating the facts, never shying away from his own failings, while painting Sam as a shining knight, sure and steady, rushing in to save the day. "Dad, I shoulda known, but I didn't… Sammy was the one to figure it out. You shoulda seen him, Dad. He was awesome. If not for him forcing his way onto the job… "

John grunted and looked away, moisture wetting his eyes as he considered how he'd left his son alone to face this simple job, and how it all could have blown up in their faces… How without Sammy interfering... _anything_ could have happened… and almost did.

Dean faltered when his dad couldn't even bear to look at him. _I deserve it! I let things get out of control… _"Dad, I'm sorry I screwed up. I know you're disappointed and you should be… but you can be proud of Sam. He did good, Dad." His mouth twisted as he tried to hold his emotions in check, concentrating on reporting the facts like the good soldier. "He figured out how to stop Jackson and he saved me, he saved Shelly… he's the hero here."

John blinked back his tears and turned to face his son. "Yeah, Sammy did good, real good." He offered up a weak grin, his dimples evident as he licked his lips and tried to stay focused. "So, you think he's got what it takes?"

Dean's face almost cracked from the huge smile that broke out consuming his features. "Absolutely!" He nodded his head in excitement. "He needs more discipline, but he's smart, Dad. He thinks on his feet and he didn't get rattled. He kept his cool and thought it through just like you always taught us."

"Sounds like he's got the right stuff." John released a contented, raspy laugh and his face lit up with pride. "A regular chip off the old block."

Dean swallowed hard and managed to maintain his smile, only the slightest quiver of his bottom lip betraying his hurt. "Yeah, Dad, he's your son alright. You can be proud."

John was considering his youngest now. He knew Sammy hated the life, fought the jobs, but this was promising. He knew it all came about because of his devotion to his brother, but at least it was proof he could do the job if he wanted to. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he failed to notice the anxiety creeping across Dean's face.

"Yeah, I'm proud of him, but don't you go blowin' smoke up his ass. He's already too damn big for his britches. Don't need him getting any more full of himself," he cautioned Dean.

"Just tell him he did good, will ya, Dad? He deserves that much."

John considered the request and nodded. _I can do that. After all, I need him to be more eager for the hunt, maybe now that he's gotten a taste for it…_ He looked up and casually observed his older son again. Dean was quiet, staring at his hands as he twisted his silver ring around his finger until it appeared it would spin right off, a slight clench in his jaw that subtly twitched. Something seemed off, but he couldn't quite figure it out. Dean always was a mystery. Larger than life and full of boundless energy when he was up, after a hunt or when he came home from a night on the town, and then quiet and brooding on those rare occasions when he retreated into himself and disappeared. When he just didn't seem like Dean. It was during those times that John was reminded of that four-year-old child in the weeks following the fire. He didn't know how to handle Dean's grief then, and he sure as hell didn't know how to deal with his sullen moods now.

He cleared his throat. "I'm glad he was there for you."

Dean looked up and nodded. "Yeah, me too."

_There… what was that? Just a slight tremor in his bottom lip, a nervous twitch, barely noticeable. God, I wish I could read him, understand him… make him communicate... His eyes… God, what is that look in his eyes?_

John was more confused than ever. Dean wanted him to be proud of Sam and he was… _so what's his deal?_

"So, how about you? You alright?"

Dean looked up with just a wisp of a smile, while his eyes still held a darkness, a pain undefined. "Me? Sure, Dad. I'm good."

John smiled. _Hell, that's true enough. Never have to worry about Dean. _

Dean sat on the bed, his hands twisted together nervously clasping and releasing, digging at his jeans, in constant motion, but still waiting.

_Waiting for what?_

A nagging guilt lingered in John's mind, a father's regret at not handling a crisis quite like he should have. _Hindsight is 20/20. The problem is, even looking back; I'm still not sure with Dean. Sammy's an open book; you know when he's upset… Dean always seems fine, but is he? Is he really?_

"Dean.., I'm sorry."

Dean's eyes blinked and his mouth contorted as he nervously wetted his lips, lightly chewing on them. He leaned forward; sure he'd misheard his dad, confusion muffling his voice as he gasped, _"What?"_

John rolled his eyes to ward off more tears and his dimples deepened over an anxious smile. "You're not gonna make this easy on me, are you?"

Dean still looked confused, his mouth releasing a soft gulp as his brain failed to register what was happening. This was starting to have all indications of a chick-flick moment and that just didn't happen, not with Dad. He waited; sure he must be misinterpreting what was actually going on here.

"Dean, I said I'm sorry. I should have known something was up with you. You've never wimped out on a job before. I should have known somethin' wasn't right. You weren't yourself, I know that now. I never should have left you on your own."

_God, it's happening… it's really happening. Wow.., just, wow! _

It was all so unexpected and it knocked the wind out of him for just a second, before a wave of distant emotions washed over him. Overwhelming feelings of relief, wonder, joy, and serenity enveloping him and his face lit up from the rare tenderness and warmth filling the room, embracing him like all the hugs and kisses from his life before, when Mom and Dad would wrap him up within the love of his family. The contentment only lasted a few precious moments before Dean tensed from the hurt expression lingering on his dad's face, the tender gaze of his eyes, and the nervous clench of his jaw. Almost immediately, all he could think of was to comfort his dad and ease _his_ guilt.

"Dad, c'mon. How could you know? Jackson was a slippery sonofabitch. Hell, _I _didn't know."

"Dean, he was _possessing_ you. You wouldn't know. I should have been inside the theater with you. I shouldn't have left you alone."

Dean smiled at his dad's attempt at an apology. It wasn't necessary and it certainly wasn't expected… but it was nice. _A nice change for the Winchesters._ _God, it feels good. _

"Dad, I _wasn't_ alone. Sammy was there. You were right about that. Sam did good. He's a hero. He saved me and everything turned out alright."

John smiled, _that's my boy… always looking out for his family_. "Yeah, everything turned out alright. So, are you really okay with all this?"

"Me?" Dean smiled, confident and sure, his best smile from his repertoire, determined to not disappoint his dad any further than he already had. "I'm always alright, Dad… You know that."

John smiled, his eyes glistening with a hundred emotions, pride in his sons, _both of them_… but also anxiety from the terror of what might have been. Somehow they always managed to overcome whatever tried to take them down and this was no different. He wasn't sure if it was skill or luck or just plain-ass stubbornness, but whatever it was, he was grateful they'd managed to dodge one more bullet and his sons were okay… better than okay, his son's were warriors.

--

By the time Sam returned with the bag of munchies, father and son were stretched out on the beds drinking the last of the beer and laughing. Dad looked completely at ease and Dean looked happy, truly blissed out. Sam made a show of checking the number on the room as he closed the door, unsure whether he had the right room. This certainly wasn't what he was expecting to return to. Dean jumped up and dug through the bag pulling out his M & M's and throwing the tic tacs by his bag for later. He was feeling more like his old self and he had a lady in distress waiting for him… _Yeah, tomorrow is definitely looking up._

He plopped back down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. "So, Sammy, we're voting on what movie to watch."

"Yeah? What's on?" Sam sat down on the bed next to his brother and picked up the remote ready to flick on the TV.

"Not on the tube, you boob!" Dean joked.

Sam looked quizzically at his brother and then shot a quick glance at his dad. John was smiling from ear to ear. "You're kidding me?"

Dean wiggled his eyebrows and smirked in response.

"NO WAY!" Sam again looked toward his dad. "Really? We're gonna use the passes… all of us?"

John shifted on the bed, stuffing a pillow behind his back up against the headboard. "Free passes, Sammy. Since when do we pass up free stuff?"

"But the _movies?_ It's just… well, y' know."

"What?" John defensively muttered. "I'll admit, it has been awhile, but I used to go to the movies all the time with your mother. Right, Dean?"

Dean cackled, "Yeah, but this time's for pleasure, not pain." Then he leaned forward and winked at his dad. "Of course, you're on your own finding dessert afterwards. I got my own little taste treat lined up, but big daddy's all on his own." Dean displayed his most deviant, wild-sex-on-his-mind smirk.

Sam simply stared at his family, gathering the gist of the conversation, but not entirely sure he wanted to know all the gory details. Being exposed to Dean's exploits was enough to do him; he certainly didn't want any details on Dad and Mom… or _whomever._ Hoping to steer the conversation back to a PG rating he jumped back in. "So, what's the choices?"

"Nic Cage."

"Huh?"

"Well, ya gotta have action and there's only two action flicks playing, and ol' Nic's the man. We've got Con Air or Face/Off." Dean smiled as he ripped open the bag of M & M's. "Guess Nic cornered the market on tough guys this month."

John spoke up, "So what are they about?"

"Beats me, but I bet he kicks ass," Dean answered with a nonchalance that indicated plot wasn't as important as intense action.

Sam got up and moved to the laptop sitting on the small table by the window. "If you wanna know what they're about check the net." He quickly pulled up a screen and silently read, knowing Dean would only want the condensed version. When he finished he turned back to his family as he sat down on the bed again. "Con Air is about some convicts being transported to a prison and they break free."

Dean quickly responded, "Cool Hand Luke, modern days… sounds good!"

"How about the other one?" John asked.

"Well, first off it's got John Travolta."

"Vinnie Barbarino?" Dean asked in wonder.

John interrupted, "Who?"

Dean laughed, "One of the sweat-hogs."

"The what?"

"Nevermind, Dad. It doesn't translate."

"So, Sammy, what's it about?"

"About some Fed trying to figure out where the bad guy planted a bomb that's gonna destroy LA. Something about they switch faces so he can impersonate the guy."

"What, like a shapeshifter?"

"No, like science, Dean. They do an operation to change one guy to look like the other."

"Yeah, like a shapeshifter," Dean reiterated.

"Yeah, whatever."

"So, what are the reviews?" John questioned, joining back into the family discussion.

Dean scoffed, "Reviews? You mean what the critics have to say?"

"Yeah, which one got the best reviews?"

"Who cares? Critics are just frustrated writers that can't get a job making movies so they put down those that do."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother. "Cynical, much?"

"Hey, it's the truth. Them that can, do… and them that can't, criticize… " Dean laughed then, totally enjoying his next thought, "or sit on the sidelines watching."

Sam again rolled his eyes and huffed. _Typical Dean, yep, he's back, as obnoxious as ever!_

Since Dean had already voted, John turned to Sam. "So, Sammy, which one strikes your fancy?"

"I dunno. Either sounds good, but it says Con Air has some awesome special effects. The plane crashes on the strip in Vegas."

Dean's eyes grew wide and he sat up with a start. "It has a plane crash?" he squeaked out.

"Yeah, why? Oh, and I forgot, it also stars John Cusack."

Dean's eyes flashed at that comment and he quirked his brows. "Isn't Cusack in all those girly flicks?" His voice barely containing his obvious contempt.

"I dunno, I guess."

"But this is an _action_ flick?"

"Yeah."

"You're kidding me, right? You're just messin' with me? I mean _Cusack_ in an action flick?" Dean scoffed.

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe he wanted to change his image."

"I'll bet. Who'd want to be in all those chick flicks, except maybe Leo?"

"So, you changing your vote or what?" Sam challenged.

Dean tensed. _Ain't no way I'm watching a plane crash… Nope. No way, Jose! _"Well, I'm thinkin' we need to go with Travolta. I mean after Pulp Fiction, the guy's cool again. Way cooler than Cusack."

John smiled at his son's reasoning. Dean was a good hunter, and a part of that was he always saw things slightly off-center, from a different angle than most, using a fresh perspective to attack a job. It was a gift that had saved his ass on more than one occasion. John didn't question it, he'd just learned to appreciate it and depend upon it. "Well, Sammy, it works for me if you're game."

Sam got a mischievous grin on his face and couldn't resist one little, caustic comment, just to spice things up. "Well, since Dean was the one being tortured in the dark chambers of the theater… I guess it's fair he picks the movie."

"Okay, that's it!" Sam barely got his comment out before Dean tackled him, pushing him off the bed and pinning his face into the smelly motel carpet, laughing as he did it. "I told you, dude. You better start working out more or your face's gonna be permanently plastered in the carpet."

"Dean, you're such a jerk."

"Maybe," he chuckled, "but I'm not the bitch laid out on the floor. Come on, Sammy, might as well drop it and move on." Dean's face was filled with true joy, a stark contrast from just an hour before. "Better say it, bro."

Sam struggled, refusing to mutter the dreaded word. He curled up his lips in a friendly smile and twisted his head up to gaze on his brother as he gasped out, "Auntie Em."

Dean chuckled. "Nice try, but you're a little confused there, dude. Do I have to explain the birds and the bees again? You know, sex and all that jazz?"

John smiled at his sons' antics. They were gonna be alright, they'd survived and they were together. _I can't ask for more than that. _

Dean was laid out across his brother's back, holding him down and relaxing. Sam was still squirming and you could hear heavy breathing.

This could take some time.

Sam grunted again before offering up another witty response. "Auntie Mame?"

"Go ahead, be a smartass… I got all night."

TBC


	14. The Last Act

Chapter Fourteen – The Last Act

"Morning sunshine."

Dean rolled over and scrubbed at the sleep in his eyes. The sun cascading through the window indicated he'd slept in way too late, long past the time his body would normally wake him. The TV on the dresser was playing low in the background and Sam was sitting on Dad's bed watching, turning to observe his brother now that he was back amongst the living. _At least if feels like the land of the living… almost._

He eased up into a sitting position, is body feeling better, but still achy and tired. _Man, I've faced down poltergeists and werewolves that left me in better shape. Maybe I shoulda laid off the beer last night, too much celebrating too soon. _His bleary eyes finally found the clock on the nightstand between the beds, 8:45. _Damn! _Sam was smiling at him, smug and superior, _typical Sammy. _Groaning, he offered a morning greeting and was answered with the expected response.

"Bitch."

"_Jerk." _Sammy let the word drawl out, twice as long as it actually was, a huge grin on his face.

Nodding toward the clock/radio Dean muttered, "That thing right? Why didn't someone wake me?"

"Dad said you needed your beauty rest."

"You can't get any prettier than me. It's outlawed… the girls couldn't take it. They'd spontaneously combust or somethin'."

"Yeah, _right._ So is the princess ready to get her butt outta bed?"

"_You're_ the princess… I'm the handsome prince." Scratching at his head, further mussing his already spiky do, he glanced about the room. "Where's Dad?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Dunno. You know Dad, need-to-know crap."

Dean nodded. "Whatcha watching?" His curiosity was piqued by the high-pitched squealing noise coming from the set. He disentangled his legs from the sheets and rolled out of the bed, sitting on the edge leaning into the aisle where he could get a clear view of the screen. "What the _hell _are you watching, Sammy?" His eyebrows quirked up in confusion with a mix of humor; his eyes disbelieving at the clear blue expanse on the screen and the obnoxious dolphin bobbing up out of the water, acting like freakin' Lassie with an urgent come-hither look.

Sam shifted nervously, offering up a small shrug in explanation. "Not much on."

"Yeah, _so?_ What exactly are you frying your brain with?"

"It's _Flipper_, alright?"Sam snapped.

"_Flipper?_ You're watching a _fish?"_

"A dolphin. It's a mammal, more like us than a fish."

"More like _you_ maybe."

"Witty as usual, Dean."

Dean smiled then as he realized what little brother was seeing in this fish story… _Oh, yeah, Sammy is definitely growin' up!_

"Who's that?"

Sam quirked his brows and his bottom lip quivered, ever so slightly, but big brother could read him, knew him like all those books Sammy insisted on reading. _You can run, but you can't hide, little bro. _

"Who?"

"_Her…_ the girl in the water… y'know, big ol' eyes, shiny bright smile, smooth olive skin. Kinda cute.., for a kid."

"Oh, her? She's alright."

"So, who is she? Little Sammy got a crush?" Dean curved his lips up into a lascivious smirk. "Y'know, a few more years and I might even… "

"No! God, Dean, give it a rest. Not everyone is as horny as you."

"Oh, really?" Dean offered a knowing smile, making his brother squirm just from the way he was looking at him. Once he had Sammy totally ill at ease and self-conscious he continued, "So.., tell… " When Sam hesitated, Dean rose from the bed and wandered over to the laptop open on the table by the window and hit the history button, immediately pulling up the head shot of the girl in question. _Oh, Sammy… you are so very predictable!_

Shaking his head, his eyes fell upon his brother, sad and troubled. "This is serious, Sammy."

Sam tried to ignore him, knowing Dean was only trying to rile him, trying to start up the friction and teasing and soon, they'd be sparring and back to the same old, same old. Sam certainly didn't want to be responsible for any possible relapse his brother might suffer; maybe their previous wrestling had already triggered a setback, after all, Dean _never_ slept in this late. Maybe it would be wise to just take it easy and relax for a change. _Yeah, right! Like Dean would ever lay off?_

"Sammy, you _know_ what this means?"

Sam gave up. Dean wouldn't stop, wouldn't give in… just like the Terminator… _He just keeps coming and coming, no remorse, no pity, only total annihilation or worse._

"No, Dean. What's it mean?" he huffed. _As if I care… _

Dean smiled, his smug grin bringing back the joy the sluggish morning had robbed him of, again appearing steady and sure, confident and ready to torment his brother at full strength. "This girl. You know who she is, right?"

"Yeah, kinda _obvious_ since I looked her up. Jessica Alba."

"Only _partly_ true. She's Jessica _Marie _Alba." Dean quirked his brows and his dimples were pits above his cocky smirk. "Three names, bro. Means trouble, like an omen… a prophecy. _Trouble,_ bro. Mark my words."

Sam rolled his eyes. "What the heck you talkin' about now, Dean?"

"I'm telling ya, dude. I've got the experience to know. Trust me. Three names means trouble. Any chick with three names is more trouble than she's worth."

"You mean like Sarah Jessica Parker or Sarah Michelle Geller, I suppose?"

"Yeah, the first one's definitely a Hollywood princess. Not saying I wouldn't do her if the chance came up, but she'd definitely be the needy type… superficial, y'know? Expensive clothes, fancy cars, jewelry. A girl like that could never appreciate the simple pleasures in life." Dean smiled and licked his lips. "Or the fine qualities of my Chevy. And the other.., whoever that is, same thing."

"You don't even know who she is and you know all about her?"

"I told ya, dude. _Three names_… " Dean waggled his brows and smirked, that obnoxious, smug smirk that drove all the girls wild and made his brother throw up his arms in exasperation. "All ya gotta know," he proclaimed.

Sam shook his head in wonder. The truth was this might be Dean being unbelievably stupid, which he could certainly be on occasion; or he could be purposely yanking his chain, seeing just how far he could go before his brother figured out he was simply messing with him. You just never knew with Dean. _Sometimes I wonder if Dean knows._ Sam grunted out a response, "Unbelievable."

Dean smiled cocky and bold. "True." He then raised his eyebrows in a quizzical manner, leaning in towards his brother and finally questioning, "So? Who is she? This Sarah Michelle… "

"Geller."

"Yeah, never heard of her." Dean twisted his mouth into a comical sneer while his eyes danced playfully as he casually shrugged. "But I'm sure she's trouble."

Sam wondered why he was even engaging in this conversation, but it was almost like he couldn't stop himself, like a car wreck at the side of the road drawing your attention. It was human curiosity and sick fascination to see just how far Dean would take this. He offered up more ammunition as soon as he spoke, "She was on _All My Children_."

Dean would have repeated his spit-take from the theater if he'd only had a drink to spew over the floor. His eyes flashed in shock, pure and simple. "Isn't that a SOAP? Since when do you watch soaps? You've lost it, dude!_"_

"Well, she _used_ to be on a soap. Now she's on a new show, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer."_

"My god, you _are_ a freak! How do you know this stuff?"

Sam rolled his shoulders and glared at his brother, his bottom lip sticking out in a petulant pout, his tone definitely defensive. "I saw a promo and it looked kinda cool. I don't know, it could be interesting."

"Yeah, right… a girl fighting _pretend_ vampires? Good choice there, Sammy."

"She looked pretty awesome in the fight scenes," he countered.

"First off, Sammy, there's no such thing as vampires, or did you forget that little factoid? Remember? Dad told us, they were stamped out years ago. Finito, _gone…_ no need for a vampire slayer then, is there? Not to mention, she's a girl!"

"What? It all comes down to sex?"

Dean arched his brows and smirked, his eyes gleaming at just the mention of sex.

_God! What a one-track mind! _"Dean, can you focus? I'm not talking _sex… _I'm talking female, the fact that she's _female_."

"Oh, so _she's_ female. Good to know." Dean offered up a comical half-laugh, taking great delight in twisting everything his brother said into amusement for himself. When it appeared Sam wasn't going to share in the joke he turned somewhat serious. "It's not the _sex_… it's the _skills, _Sammy. You said she was on a soap, right?"

"Yeah, _so_?"

"Well, _that's_ the problem. Bet she's all cute and perky, right? I bet she does that doe-eyed, emo-acting thing they all do? Y'know, stare at the camera and look scared, or sad, or horny, or whatever-the-hell else."

"I dunno."

"Well, I do." Dean's tone was firm, resolute, no room for doubt.

"So it's _soap actors_ you're prejudiced against?" Sam quizzed.

"_Prejudiced?_ Me? NO WAY. They're just… "

"What?"

"They're _soap_ actors, Sammy… " Dean paused and offered a look that simply stated _ain't-that-reason-enough?_ before he continued, spelling it out for his clueless brother. "Any actor who does a soap is just an over-emoting drama queen. They'll never be convincing fighting evil. I mean, c'mon, Sammy! No soap actor is _ever _gonna be an action hero, period! They just don't have it in 'em."

"I don't know… maybe with some training or… "

"_What?_ A stunt double? Geez, if they can't act the part then they got no right trying to be an action hero. End of story." Dean gazed at his brother and smiled, his brother was so naïve, so innocent about the ways of the world. It always fell upon him to point out these truths, the reality of the world. "The fact is you'd never see Mel or Bruce working on a soap. Those guys on soaps are just for show… pretty boys with nothin' under the hood."

--

John came back a few hours after Dean stirred, no explanation of where he'd been, but then no one expected it. Dean was on the phone with Shelly and he seemed to be making progress, hoping to move fast before his dad decided to leave town. He hung up shortly after Dad walked into the room.

Sam looked up at his brother. "So, how's the beauty queen?"

"Still a little shaky. I think she just needs some tender care and she'll be good as new," Dean replied with his trademark smirk, his eyes again bright and clear, sparkling with anticipation. "Maybe by tomorrow, if we're still in town." He cast a hopeful look toward his dad but was met with silence, John either didn't understand the unspoken question or was too preoccupied to get that his son was looking for a response.

Sam spoke then without really thinking, "I'm sure her grams was extra careful with her… not like… " Sam stopped and wanted to kick himself… _again._

Dean quirked his brows. "Not like Jackson?"

"Dean, I didn't… "

"Chill out, dude." Dean paused to observe his brother. The kid was still all twisted and anguished, all tortured and pathetic, _typical emo-Sammy_. He really needed to toughen up if he was gonna survive this hunting life, but it was sweet… _nice_ to think he was so worried about his big brother. It was something Dean wasn't used to, having someone so concerned over him and his feelings. It was strange, but kinda nice… _in a strange way. _God, between Dad's apology and Sammy walking on eggshells this was turning into one bizarre job filled with more chick-flick moments then he was prepared for. Quickly defusing the schmaltz factor he grinned at his brother. "I survived, bro. Nothin' I couldn't handle. I'm just glad you stopped him before… well, _y'know…_ "

Now it was Sam's turn to quirk his brows, looking at his brother with complete innocence and bewilderment. "Before what?"

John was suddenly mindful of his sons' conversation, looking on intently, watching and waiting, and wondering what Dean meant, hoping to gain a little insight into his boy.

Dean rolled his eyes as if it was obvious. "Before he got it on with Rosanna."

Sam shook his head slightly, just a subtle double-take. "But Dean, you've been waiting for your chance with Shelly. Isn't that what you want?"

"Hell, no, Sammy. This is _my_ body and I don't loan it out to anyone."

Sam smiled in understanding at the comment, but came right back with a retort, "Whoopi let Swayze use her body."

"Yeah, but at least she _agreed _for Swayze to use her bod. You hear me give my permission? And then that freak was gonna keep it. Eighty-five years! You KNOW what that pervert would have been using my body for, don't you?"

"Dean, come on… a little action and _that's_ what you're complaining about?"

"A little action? Are you _nuts?_ If this body is going to be put into action, I'm gonna be in control. I'm not just goin' along for the ride, comprende? I say who touches the equipment!"

--

The Winchesters' family outing had all the makings of a great success until they encountered the enemy. Not a fierce beast or creature of the night, no evil presence or dark entity; nope, this foe was simply a pretty girl. A girl who only had eyes for Dean and when all was said and done, it appeared it was reciprocal. No one expected her to be in the movie lobby as they prepared to engage in their rare family experience, least of all Dean, but when opportunity knocks a Winchester always answers the call to duty. This was almost like a gift from the gods. If Dean believed in such things, he would have called it kismet.

Across a crowded lobby John got his first look at the girl that would torpedo his best chance at redeeming himself and being a good dad, and he certainly understood the attraction.

This girl was smiling at Dean like he was a movie star or maybe a rock musician god, her ample breasts literally heaving with desire as she licked her lips savoring every last one of his handsome features. She too was stunning, a few years older than him, smooth ivory skin with wide lustful eyes drinking in the essence of Dean's trim, muscular physique. She was lithe and sultry like a cat stalking her prey, only Dean hardly seemed poised to run. _No, my son seems quite willing to succumb to her advances. _She was confident in her manner and sure of who and what she wanted and, from the looks of things, she wanted him. She seemed totally ready to forget the possession and get it on with his older son. She definitely looked experienced and willing.

Simply gazing upon this young stud's gorgeous face seemed to be all the foreplay she needed. She was definitely ripe for the taking and Dean _had _experienced a slight dry spell before they took on this haunting. A steady stream of evil nasties had resulted in a forced exile since the job always took precedence over personal desires, and with this last job finished up Dean appeared ready to jump back in the saddle and enjoy some downtime. His absence from the scene must have seemed like an eternity for a young man in his prime, so it seemed a foregone conclusion how the evening was going to end.

The Winchesters held their tickets in their hands, their family outing hanging in the balance as Dean considered his options. Sam looked resigned to the inevitable and John was already mentally making arrangements to get back to their motel when Dean took off with the car.

Shelly smiled for the hundredth time and touched his arm and Dean felt the electricity shoot through his body and nestle in that warm place. He smiled in turn, the wattage turned up to high. She leaned in and whispered in his ear, and his eyes registered even more pleasure, his face lighting up with delight as a sly, wicked grin crossed his lips.

John could hardly begrudge Dean a little payola considering the job he just finished. As John had previously noted, they received so little reward for all their sacrifices and Dean had definitely sacrificed on this gig. _Sacrificed big time!_

"Dad, I think I'm gonna pass on the movie." Dean turned his gaze towards his kid brother. "Sammy, sorry, man." Dean looked genuinely sad to be cutting out on this family time, but he suddenly had other more pressing plans. Still, he seemed to be gauging his brother's reaction, ready to turn on a dime and stay if it was deemed necessary.

While the last thing Sam wanted was to be left all alone with Dad, he also realized his big brother needed this, and as much as he wanted to have Dean there with him, he reluctantly understood. "Rain check. And next time I get to pick the movie… and of course, you're paying." Sam smiled, releasing his brother for the night and allowing him to have fun for once without guilt.

Dean expelled a noticeable sigh of relief and slapped his hand across his brother's chest laughing. "You got it, bro."

John smiled as he watched his boys being brothers, the close brothers they always seemed to come back to. Oh, the pranks and teasing could get to be too much on occasion, but when it came right down to it, either one of his sons would march into hell for the other. John credited Dean for their closeness. _I certainly can't take credit for it, unless you consider dragging them around the country and keeping them from any outside close relationships plays a role. Yeah, I suppose it does factor in, but it's always been Dean who's looked after Sammy. Seen to it that he's taken care of, protected. I never even had to tell him, he just always took it upon himself. He just always knew. This life… damn it all, but it does bring some benefits._

John shook off his feelings of failing his sons and instead focused on his pride. He may have given them the training; but they both took it to the next level, they did the job. Now it was time for Dean's reward. "Dean, you taking the car?" John inquired, not sure if this girl had a vehicle they would be using or if the Impala would be the scene of the crime.

Dean turned to his companion and whispered in her ear. They talked low and giggled as the conversation soon turned to gropes and quick kisses. She was so primed and ready to roll that for a moment it appeared they wouldn't even make it out of the lobby before they spontaneously combusted. Dean felt all eyes upon him and slowly pulled himself away, reaching into his pocket and tossing the keys to his dad with a cocky smirk.

With the curse of this job behind him and a beautiful woman beckoning, Dean settled back into his familiar comfort zone, all his former playfulness and cockiness returning as he instructed his dad, "Just be careful with her."

John grinned and responded with a smirk of his own. "You best be careful with _her_."

She wrapped her arm around Dean's waist before dipping her hand lower into his back pocket caressing his ass. He in turn placed his hand gently on the rise of her hip as they walked through the lobby, their bodies almost joined at the hip as they leaned against each other gently swaying with a smooth, slow, dance-like rhythm. John shrugged and slapped his hand on his younger son's back guiding him toward their theater.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Sammy."

The theater was almost empty since their movie had been in release for some time and they were still fairly early so they got the prime seats, just behind the center aisle where they could prop their feet against the guard rail. They settled in and started watching the advertisements that flashed on the big screen.

John felt at odds, not quite sure what to say or do. He finally came to the realization that he was officially off duty and he could stand down and enjoy what was left of this family outing. He was glad that although he had lost Dean to the charms of an alluring woman, he still had his younger son here beside him and they were actually doing a regular family thing for a change. It was too bad about Dean…. not that he was getting some action, no, John thought that was probably just what his son needed…. No, it was just too bad this whole family outing had been precipitated by Dean and now he was the one missing out. _Yeah, you wanna rethink that, John? I doubt that he'd consider he's missing out!_

John nervously looked at his younger son and decided to make the best of their time together. It was rare for him and Sammy to be alone, Dean always seemed to be on hand in case their grating personalities created a friction that needed to be diffused; Dean always the buffer, the peacekeeper of the Winchesters, most especially since Sam had moved into those awkward teenage years. A man shouldn't be afraid to be alone with his own son, especially a man like John Winchester who faced down evil on a daily basis.

_Damn, I never feel this way with Dean. Dean doesn't push my buttons like Sam does, pushing and prodding and challenging every goddamn thing I say. __You can do this; he __is__ your son. Just talk to him. _

"Sammy, so when's the last time you saw a movie in a theater?"

Sam was surprised by the casual comment, but he looked at his dad, saw that he was actually listening for an answer, and smiled; maybe this whole father/son thing wasn't going to turn out too awfully bad. After all, Dad seemed to be trying, even though Sam knew he was out of his element. Give him a shotgun full of rock salt or a gallon of gas and a match and John was right at home, put him in a movie theater with his teenage son and he looked like he was standing on the deck of a sinking ship. _Strange world we live in. Like I'm always saying, why can't we just be normal?_

"Gosh, I think maybe when I was ten Dean took me to see The Fugitive."

"Really? Who's in that again?"

Sam smiled, thinking to himself how odd it was to even be having this conversation with his dad; a normal, run-of-the-mill conversation between a father and son and he had Dean to thank for it. _I'll have to remember to do that… _Sam grinned that completely innocent, childlike grin of his that almost perverted into a Dean smirk…_ that is if I can get past riding him about his date._

"Umm, it was Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones."

"Yeah, right. I never knew you boys saw that."

"Well, you were on a hunt. Dean figured out how to sneak in the theater… " As soon as he said it he knew it was a mistake. Dad never approved of them standing out, putting themselves at risk of detection. Breaking into a movie theater to catch a movie wasn't exactly necessary for a job, which made it a totally unacceptable risk. _Damn, see how he suckers you in? Trying to act all normal and then you go and get Dean in trouble. You're such an idiot!_

John's eyebrows arched as he contemplated this revealing information. He saw the terror on Sam's face as soon as he spoke, and he regretted his son feared him, maybe even hated him on occasion, but he could live with it, _if it keeps my sons safe_. This was water under the bridge. They hadn't gotten caught, there had been no dire repercussions, and his sons had actually from the sound of things had themselves a normal, fun time. They may not have many family bonding moments, but at least his sons still bonded in their own way, connecting and holding firm as brothers. The drill sergeant that normally ran their family was on leave tonight; Dad, the cool, understanding father had taken over his duties and he could look the other way this one time.

"So, how'd he do it? Pick the lock on the alley door?"

Sam looked up startled, responding before he could further examine the course of the conversation, "How'd you know?"

"That's how I always did it…, when I was Dean's age." And John smiled, his eyes and dimples shining with joy from this moment, relishing the shocked expression on his younger son's face turn to sheer delight as he joined in the frivolity.

Sheer wonderment elevated Sam's voice, "You used to break into movie theaters?"

"On occasion."

"Wow!" Was all Sam could think of to say. _Wait 'til Dean hears about this!_

"So was it good? The movie?"

"Yeah, we liked it so much we actually stayed and watched it twice."

John again smiled, relieved Dean was there to show his brother a good time, glad Sammy and he had some good memories to hold on to. _Rare, but precious._

The lights dimmed and the previews of coming attractions lit up the screen. Sam had a hold of the big bucket of popcorn and John reached over and grabbed a handful of kernels. They both settled down into their seats, their feet comfortably propped on the metal guard rail in front of them.

Just as the movie started the guard rail jostled and a tall, lean figure hopped over it and landed with a thud in the seat next to Sam, immediately throwing his feet back on the second bar of the railing to join the other two sets of feet propped there. Sam startled as a hand reached into the bucket and grabbed some popcorn.

"What the hell? _Dean?"_ Sammy yelled.

"Shhhh. Movie's starting." Dean leaned back in his seat, his eyes fixed on the screen. "I don't wanna miss the opening." He then insistently whispered, "Later, dude."

"But Dean?"

"Shhhh. Later."

Sam and John both stared at the dim outline of Dean, his features obscured by the darkened theater. From his demeanor and body language he seemed to be relaxed and totally into watching the movie.

_What the hell happened to the hot chick?_

Sam pushed all his concerns for his brother and what may or may not have happened with the girl to the back of his mind as he settled in to enjoy their family time. _After all, who knows when this will ever happen again?_

The three of them had never before sat through an entire movie together. Dean and Sammy had on several occasions, usually on the small TV screens of the crappy motels they stayed in, and Dad sometimes joined them for short intervals, if some action or story grabbed his attention momentarily before he again shifted all focus back to the job and his research. It was shocking, but strangely comforting, to realize they all laughed at the same time and fell silent in awe at the same moment. The movie was a fascinating mix of sci-fi and drama with everyone in the audience thinking it was pure fiction, not for one minute believing that someone could actually take on another person's face and voice.

Yeah, right, _hello… shapeshifter! Of course, Travolta, or I guess Cage at that point, didn't know about the silver bullets, but then again this wasn't actually a shapeshifter so any old bullet would do, but then again a jet engine is definitely way cooler!_

--

Dean was smiling as the credits rolled, savoring the experience of a true action flick on the big screen, but more importantly enjoying the chance to spend quality downtime with his family. As the lights came up he felt the steady presence of two sets of eyes upon him and knew the inevitable questions were coming. He patiently waited. He was enjoying watching their minds trying to figure it out, delighting in seeing his little brother use his brain for something other than school for a change.

Sam was the one who couldn't wait any longer and just blurted out the first of many questions.

"Dean, what happened?"

"Huh?" Dean turned up his eyebrows in that comical, quizzical look he had perfected at the age of nine. His eyes so sincere and wide-open, like he had no idea what the question had actually been, much less the urgent meaning behind it.

"What happened to Barbie, the beauty queen?"

Dean waited, savoring the suspense. His comic timing was near perfection. _Bada Bing! _"Well…, _nothing_ happened…, _obviously_."

"You let her get away?" Sam asked in shock.

"She ain't a fish, dude."

"But… why?"

"Just wanted to spend some quality time with my family. What's wrong with that?" Dean earnestly answered.

John had been patiently waiting and listening to the conversation, this last part pushing him toward action. "I know you'd pick a hot chick over me any day of the week and twice on Sunday," John interjected, studying his son's face for insight. "Now, for your brother you _might_ give up a little action, if say… he was _dying _or something."

A shocked look of dismay crossed Dean's face as his lips took on a sneer and his eyes appeared hooded behind a thin veil of grief. "Dad, I'm offended."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, _really_… to think you think so little of me."

John grinned at Dean's game, letting it all play out just like his son intended. "Dean, you're eighteen and well, let's just say, all cylinders are firing and you want me to believe you gave up a ride in an eight cylinder muscle car for a date with your kid brother and old man? How gullible do you think I am?"

Dean tried to rely on his familiar smirk again before it faltered and he reluctantly fessed up the truth, the horrible, bitter reality of his sure thing. He hung his head in shame, his eyes downcast, unwilling to make contact. "You're not gonna believe me if I tell you," he solemnly moaned.

Simultaneously they both responded, "What?"

Dean kept his eyes lowered, seemingly unable to look them straight in the eye and reveal his humiliation and immense pain. "Oh, she was a sure thing, just not a _quick_ thing." His eyes slowly rose to meet his family's gaze and he looked like a kid who'd lost his puppy.

"Huh?" they both echoed.

"She kinda wanted to see a movie first to, y' know, get in the mood."

Sam gasped, "Dean, she sure looked in the mood to me."

"Well, Sammy, _about women_… " Dean quirked his eyebrows and shot a glance at his dad, before offering a slight gasp of his mouth as he leaned in and wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders in a tight grip, "you've got a lot to learn, bro."

John smiled a knowing smile. "Let me guess what movie she wanted to see."

Dean released his brother and his hand stretched out like a cop directing traffic as he motioned for his dad to halt, "Dad…, don't even think it… and I swear if you say it, I'm breaking out the shotgun."

Sam suddenly got the gist of it, his high-wattage brain finally registering the terrible truth of Dean's date.

John studied his son and finally spoke, "But Dean, I thought we had that little discussion that sometimes you have to watch something you don't want to watch in order to get what you want?"

"Believe me, Dad; what she was offering doesn't come close to being worth _that _price. I'm _never _watching that movie again… _ever!"_

_Who'da thought? My son actually does have the capacity to use his upstairs brain and just say no. I'd better note this in the journal._

John tossed the keys to the Impala to his son. "Well, I guess you're driving then."

Dean snatched the keys in midair, but immediately tossed them back to his dad. "Whoa!" He offered up his most deviant smirk as he licked his lips. "Guess again."

"I thought you said…?"

"I said she wanted to watch the movie, never said we weren't gonna hook up after." Dean's eyes were shining with anticipation, his boisterous grin consuming his face. "She says the movie gets her all hot and bothered." He winked at his brother as his thoughts went back to Rosanna's diaries and the wild escapades depicted there. "Sammy, I guess I'm gonna find out how much of that runs in the family." He shook out his shoulders and arched his eyebrows over twinkling eyes. "It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to take care of her." Dean glanced at his watch, his smirk deadly, "Forty-five minutes 'til lift off."

As John and Sam walked out of the theater, John grumbled to himself, "I never got out of watching the chick-flick movie and I even married the girl!"

_Damn, if my son isn't velvety smooth._

The End

bjxmas March 2008

All standard disclaimers apply.

_Special thanks to aquaesulis76, irismay42, and JazzyIrish for their comments back on my story __Famous Last Lines__ that got me thinking about the backstory on why Dean watched __Titanic__ and knew Leo's dying words._

_I love how one thought can inspire a writer and grow into an entire story. See what power reviews have! _

_Much thanks also to everyone who reviewed on this story, particularly pandora jazz, irismay42, JazzyIrish, SamDeanLover28, thevigilante15, and Ditzyleo. All reviews are always appreciated… everybody loves feedback and honestly sometimes we're not sure whether we are hitting the mark or not without the reviews._

_Thanks for reading, 'til next time. Later, B.J._


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